The Uncle From America
by Poetgirl616
Summary: Set at the end of the third book. Hermione's life changes with the arrival of one man. Now, she must deal with the fact that her family isn't what she thought it was and navigate her new life. Adopted from ShunKickShunKers
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Harry Potter, their characters or this story. This story is the work of ShunKickShunKers and is adopted with their knowledge and consent.**

 _ **Chapter One**_

~Hermione~

It started as an ordinary morning. Quiet, boring, muggle. However, it would turn into a morning Hermione would, unfortunately, never forget.

The last semester at Hogwarts had ended two weeks ago, and holidays had gone smoothly so far. The young witch was eating her customary late breakfast that could be counted as an early lunch –no school meant sleeping in, an activity her parents indulged the first three weeks before pulling her out from bed at an earlier time.

It also helped that same parents worked those three first weeks, so she wouldn't have to face her mom's raised eyebrow and her dad's side smirk when she headed downstairs at past eleven.

The TV was on, and she glanced at it just in time to see a new warning message concerning Sirius Black. The criminal was said to still be on the run.

Hermione never told her parents she had met him in person, and that he was in fact innocent. She doubted they would understand. They would only hear the words criminal, daughter and alone out of the conversation the overreact. Probably, much to her horror, pull her out of Hogwarts.

So, she had kept that little detail from them, just like every other little mortal detail she didn't mention since she befriended Harry the-trouble-magnet Potter. Hermione loved her parents to death, but they were her parents.

There was a special interruption about a car accident that had occurred earlier in the morning. Apparently, a drunk driver had slammed into another car, pushing it off the road and into a lamppost, killing himself and the passengers of the other vehicle. Hermione winced, switched channel and kept eating her biscuit.

It wasn't that the news didn't upset her, but she figured she deserved a break from having to hear about danger and accidents. She had, after all, faced a werewolf barely a month prior.

Breakfast done, Hermione dropped her dishes in the sink –she'd clean them later –and returned to her bedroom, firmly decided to read a book. She was still pondering on which one to choose –wizard or muggle? Novel or other?- when the bell at the front door rang. With a heavy sigh, she returned downstairs, checked through the peephole and recognized Larry Harrison.

Mr. Harrison was a lawyer and one of her father's acquaintances. They weren't exactly friends, but they knew each other well enough for him to join them for diner once in a while. He was a polite and discreet man who always acted amiably with her, so she wasn't afraid to open the door to him.

Today though, he looked quite grim. And there were two policemen with him in the background. Hermione's heartbeat increased under the sudden worry.

"Miss Granger," he greeted in a voice that was too quiet, too solemn.

"If you are looking for my parents, they are at work," Hermione said, hoping this wasn't about what she thought it could be.

"I was looking for you, actually. There was an accident earlier today." A police officer began, his face also grave.

Her thoughts briefly turned to the announcement of the two car incident, but she brushed that line of thought away, it couldn't have been them.

"A drunk driver hit them on their way to work and ran them off the road."

Oh no. No.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, your parents didn't make it."

* * *

The rest of the day and the following week seemed to pass in a blur. She could barely remember what happened; only that she had turned into an automaton and hadn't dared make a move she hadn't been ordered to.

Mr. Harrison took care of most of the procedures, asking her questions only when necessary. He also organized the ceremony, helped with the details and the eulogy and supported her when she stood alone before her parents' caskets.

Hermione had no idea what she was going to do. None of her parents had siblings and her grandparents had died long ago. Her parents had money in an account for her, but nothing she couldn't spend before her seventeenth birthday and no will. Before, whenever she needed money to buy something, they'd give her some themselves.

Mr. Harrison had been trying to break the agreement with the banks so she could have a little something to rely on, but he did tell her not to get her hopes up. So far, she had to decide what to do starting the following year. She needed to find a place to live during the summer. She couldn't stay in the house because she didn't have the financial means to keep it and although she could pretend her parents were off on a business trip most of the time, she knew it was a matter of time before she reached her breaking point and slammed the door behind her.

Mr. Harrison had made her understand she would probably end up in foster care sooner or later. She was still a minor, and he couldn't even be sure she'd be sent to the same school in September. Hermione could probably ask for a magical guardian, but the letters she had sent to Ron were left unanswerred. As supportive as Harry was trying to be through his letters, he couldn't help her either. How he still managed to send Hedwig over in spite of his uncle's surveillance was beyond her, but she was grateful he had.

Three days after her parents' funeral, Mr. Harrison came knocking at her door again.

"Something has come up, regarding your guardianship," he said and waited for her to invite him in.

Hermione opened the door a little wider and they both stepped in the living room. He was carrying a large file with papers that made a loud sound when he laid them on the table.

"My assistant was going through your parents' file, and he found out that your father actually has a younger brother." He paused, allowing the information to sink in.

Hermione blinked in surprise. What?

Harrison continued when she remained silent. "His name is Clinton Barton, and he lives in America. I assume you never heard of him?"

The girl shook her head.

The man nodded. "I thought as much. Primary research says he is a man with a . . .suspicious background, probably the reason why your father never spoke of him. The firm had to contact him, of course. He is on his way to England and will likely arrive tomorrow."

Hermione nodded. Her father had a brother. He had a brother, her uncle, who was likely a criminal. She found it ironic. Now Harry and she had something in common, aside from both being orphaned.

"The files are old, which is why I didn't find them right away," he sounded vaguely annoyed by this. "But your father appointed him as your guardian if anything was to happen to him or Vivian." Something akin regret lingered in his eyes. "I am sorry Miss Granger. There is little I can do for this situation."

"I understand," she replied quietly.

"Your parents had no fortune, but they earned enough money to make people envious." He added. "Please understand I want to protect your interests, Miss Granger, and I will do my best to make the odds favorable to you."

"I do, thank you," she said, staring at the table. So that man would only be there for her parents' money? Where did that leave her then? Would he take her in? Would he bring her back with him? Or will he just take his share and leave her behind?

She didn't want to move to the US, but she didn't want to be left alone either. Maybe, depending on the type of man her uncle was, they could find an arrangement?

The next day, she went to Mr. Harrison's office. Mr. Harrison conducted business in an adjacent spacious room to make his client feel comfortable. He had offered to let her stay in his office and crack the door open for her to overhear the conversation he would have with Mr. Barton before they were introduced. Hermione liked the idea, she would have eavesdropped anyway, and had agreed.

It was fifteen til two when she pushed the front door open and entered the office. Harrison stood up to greet her and led her to a small but comfortable couch. She was staring outside the window when she saw the black sports car park in the alley across the street and two people step out.

The driver was a woman, a redhead with long hair loose over her shoulders. She was dressed in a black pair of jeans and a brown jacket, half of her face was covered with large sunglasses.

Hermione couldn't distinguish her features, but she figured she must be beautiful. The man accompanying her made her take a second glance. He was wearing sunglasses and a sleeveless shirt, showing off the huge muscles of his arms. And even though Hermione was just a fourteen year old recently, she couldn't help but blush slightly. She was entering puberty after all, she was entitled to look.

The glimpse barely lasted a second, for he grabbed a jacket and slid it on nearly immediately. Hermione watched the two cross the street and head towards the building, and she briefly wondered what had brought them here. Were they a couple? Were they married? Were they adulterers or friends or family? Given the car, they were probably well-off. Or at least the woman seemed to be. The man, according his clothing, probably not. Or maybe he just didn't want to bother dressing up even to meet a notary?

Hermione heard them enter, walk to the front desk. Then she turned her attention back to the street. Her "uncle" should be arriving anytime now, if he was punctual. She waited a few moments and heard the door of Harrison's office open and voices.

She raised an eyebrow in wonder and crept closer.

"-sn't expecting you accompanied, Mr. Barton."

"This is my partner, Miss Rushman." A man's voice replied abruptly. "Can we get this done?"

"Clint," a feminine voice spoke, a clear warning in her tone. Chairs were moved and papers opened.

Hermione blinked in shock. Was the man who had just entered her uncle? But he didn't even look like her father! And she had been checking him out? Urgh, creepy.

Before Harrison could begin, the man she could only assume to be her uncle spoke. "Just so we're clear, I want nothing that sonovabitch left behind."

Hermione nearly gasped in shock. How dare that man insult her father!

"If he was married, if his wife's still alive or if she had any relatives at all, give it to them."

The teenager frowned. That was an odd request. Usually, people were glad to hear they'd inherit a little something from a deceased relative, even if they hadn't been in good terms.

"Mr and Mrs Granger had no family," Mr. Harrison declared firmly.

Hermione blinked. What about her? She suddenly wondered if her uncle even knew about her.

"They were in debt?"

"No, sir."

"Then I'll leave it to you. The furniture he had, his house, his car, heck his goldfish can go to Goodwill or Red Cross for all I care. I only came because I have business to attend in London."

"Clint, you promised. Calm down." The woman spoke again, this time with soft authority.

Hermione heard someone breathing hard and silence settled again. She was still too unsettled by the earlier outburst from her 'uncle' to care if he was the one upset. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison. The subject of his brother is always tough on him."

"You're not my goddamn psychiatrist, Rushman. Drop it."

Yups, defintively Barton.

"Excuse-me," Mr Harrison interrupted. "I know this is probably none of my business, but Mr. Granger was a friend of mine and a good man."

Someone snorted at these words, and Hermione felt anger rising within again.

"I cannot understand why you despise him so, even after his death."

Hermione inhaled sharply and waited. The response came in a wording that resembled to a growl.

"That so-called good man," Barton started, "stabbed me when I was sixteen because I caught him stealing money from the circus receipts. He stabbed me, his own brother, and left me behind for dead. And that was the first time. Second time we crossed roads, he was working for a local mobster and tried to shoot me. It doesn't surprise me that he's changed his name and moved to England, because if I had found him first-"

That was more than Hermione could bear. She pushed the door open, ran into the room with anger clouding her eyes and her hand itching for her wand to hex him. "My father was NOT a murderer!"

The three people in the room turned around to stare at her. Harrison looked angry and annoyed at her interruption, but thankfully remained quiet. The two newcomers faced her with equally unsurprised stares.

Hermione quickly completed the portrait she had made of the woman from behind the firm. A set of bright green eyes, beautiful features and from what she could see even from her seated position, a body to die for. The woman -Rushman, was it?- raised an eyebrow in her direction and the corner of her lips tilted upwards, as if the teenager was an amusing distraction.

Deciding not to dwell too much on the first unknown quantity, she directed her eyes towards her remaining living relative.

Clinton Barton, from up close, still looked nothing like her father. Where her father had been tall and thin, Barton looked smaller and larger, but in a much more muscular way. His eyes were sharper too, and they maybe had the same shade of blue. But her father's had been warm, and his were cold and calculating.

She suddenly wondered why he didn't look the slightest surprised by her arrival. Really, after three years with a trouble magnet, she should have known something was up.

Still, it caught her entirely off guard when Clinton stood up, walked towards her and offered her a half-smile.

"Hello Hermione, it's nice to finally meet you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer/Reminder: None of this is mine, all credit goes elsewhere.**

 _New York, 48 hours earlier…_

"Barton, you are expected in debrief room number 3."

The archer blinked and turned around to see Maria waiting for him on the other side of the shooting range.

"I am?" he repeated. Last he knew, he hadn't been convoked for anything.

"You are. Something came up and D-team is requested."

"Seriously?"

"Does it look like I'm joking?"

Clint hesitated, then shrugged.

"Nobody knows when you are. Except maybe Tasha."

Maria rolled her eyes and made a 'come on' gesture with her hand. He put down his bow, folded it in its case and followed her. After the huge mess they've left in Budapest, Delta Strike team was wisely given some time off to let them recover. That was the official reason. In truth, they were asked to lay low for a while, because the WSC was _not_ happy with them. So that Maria of all people (wasn't she supposed to be on the Helicarrier by the way?) came for him left him perplexed. They entered the debrief room where Natasha was already waiting. Coulson wasn't there, which surprised him.

"Phil is late?" he asked, glancing at his partner. Natasha shrugged.

"I am your handler on this one." Maria interrupted and added before either could comment. "It's not a high risk mission, just an infiltration and information withdrawal. You are expected to find names of the leaders of a rising drug ring in England, the Nirvens, and forward this intel to another team who will dismantle them."

"Are you serious?" Clint blurted, annoyed. He had vaguely heard about the Nirvens from a colleague the previous month. Considering what Delta Strike team faced on their usual mission, this was way below their standards. "They're sending us on rookie missions now? Are they that scared of us being bored?"

Natasha didn't comment, but given her barely noticeable scowl, she agreed with him. Maria didn't take the bait and slid two files in their direction.

"You weren't chosen by chance," she added dryly. "Some members of this ring work in a small notary cabinet, and we were given the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the building. A man suspected to belong to the Nirvens died in a car accident recently." She turned towards Clint. "Does the name Bernard Granger ring a bell?"

The archer frowned and picked up the folder.

"Not a th-"

He paused when he opened the first page and fell on familiar blue-grey eyes staring back at him. Blue-grey eyes he hadn't seen in _years_.

"Then maybe you have heard about his real name." Maria went on imperturbably, in spite of Clint's uncompleted sentence and Natasha's stare of disbelief. "Meet Bernard Granger, a.k.a Barney Barton."

 _Present time._

"Hello, Hermione, nice of you to join us."

The teenager stared at him abashed, Clint took in how exhausted and lost she looked. Her parents' death must have hit her her hard. She was only fourteen after all and from what he had read from SHIELD's report and her profile, she had had a good and loving life. For all his past mistakes, Barney seemed to have done right by his daughter.

When Hermione didn't move to take his hand, he dropped it to ease the awkwardness. "My name's Clint, which you must know by now. Sorry I didn't visit earlier, someone forgot to mention I had a niece." He sent a glare to Harrison for good measure. The notary shifted uncomfortably on his chair. "Were you hoping I'd never find out?"

Harrison's mouth thinned into hard line.

"You have a very debatable past, Mr. Barton," he spoke eventually. "And like I said, Mr. Granger was a good friend of mine, I wanted to protect his daughter."

"Hey Rushman, how high is your bullshit meter right now?"

His partner gave him a sweet smile. So she had smelt something fishy too. He turned around and faced Hermione once again. According to the files they had read, Barney had kept his wife and daughter out of the business. The girl was, in common agreement, not to be involved in this. Barton was in charge of pulling her out of harm if she happened to be there and let Natasha handle the interrogation. If anything turned sour, Maria was just around the bloke. Clint suspected the Deputy Director had brought her trustful tablet with her, not expecting to be called in. And Clint suspected she was probably right to do so.

"So Hermione," Clint started. "It seems that _my_ lawyer," he nodded towards Natasha, and Harrison paled drastically –apparently, he hadn't expected him to bring 'legal' back-up. "And your notary are going to have a little talk. I've seen a coffee place across the street when I came by. Would you like to have a drink with me so we can get to know each other a bit better?" She hesitated, but he could read curiosity in her eyes. "There'll be lots of people there. You're allowed to scream if I make any indecent move." He added halfway to joke, halfway to reassure her.

The girl glanced at Harrison briefly. Her hand made an interesting move towards her pocket, like she was searching for a weapon, and the gesture seemed to reassure her.

"Fine." She replied. "I'll pick up my stuff."

He waited until she left the room to ask Harrison:

"Am I her legal guardian?"

The guy who had called him to 'deliver' the news of his brother's death hadn't mentioned anything else but a will. Harrison nodded reluctantly. Clint bit back a groan; now that was something he suspected, but he had hoped Barney hadn't been stupid enough to leave her with him. Had he been _that_ confident he wouldn't hurt his daughter? Either his brother had believed him to be an idiot, either he had faith in his goodwill. Clint inched towards the former, because Barney was a sneaky one, and he wouldn't put past the hypothesis that he had survived or staged his accident, especially if he belonged to a new drug ring and SHIELD was after them.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," he mumbled tiredly and glanced one last time at his partner: "You'll be all right?"

Natasha gave him *that* look. He waited for Hermione and opened the door for her on the way out.

The coffee wasn't crowded, but had just enough people to put his niece at ease. Hermione chose a table near the exit and in full view of the street. Not Clint's favorite place, but he'd make an exception this one time. She ordered a Sprite and he a black coffee. He hadn't slept much during the plane trip, making sure to catch up with his brother and his family's every move. The only oddity that concerned him so far was her school ( _private school, the file mentioned. Great, now_ which _private school?_ ) but that was a detail he could clear with her later. Right now, the girl had seen enough for the past few days, he didn't want to push her too much and hear her expectations. While they waited for their order, they stood in silence facing each other. Clint waited for her to take the lead.

"How did you know I was next door?" Hermione eventually asked.

It amused him a bit, the way she wasn't scared of facing him. Clint briefly wondered if she had met anyone like him before.

"The door was slightly opened." He admitted. "I wasn't sure you'd be the one behind."

"So a door left ajar is a sign of eavesdropping?" She concluded and frowned judgmentally. "What kind of life do you live?"

Clint chuckled at that.

"If your lawyer wanted to respect his customer's confidentiality, he would have made sure all doors were locked." The waiter brought their drinks. Clint swiftly changed subject before she could ask again about his profession. "So where do you live right now?"

It successfully distracted her. She looked down and tightened her fists.

"At home."

That surprised him.

"Really? I thought you'd already be placed in foster care or with your mom's relatives."

"How can you say that!" she spat angrily. Clint raised his hands in defense.

"Whoah cool down little lady. I'm just curious because when my- our parents –your grand-parents died, the social services came to pick us up straight ahead."

"Mr. Harrison made it so I could stay a while longer," she argued, then frowned. "Your parents died when you were young?"

Clint briefly wondered what Barney had told her daughter about their parents. He suddenly wondered if she even knew he had existed at all, and what she had been told about him.

"Your dad never spoke much of his past?"

Hermione grimaced slightly.

"He said his parents died when he was in his twenties, that I would have loved to meet them had they been alive." Pause. "He never mentioned you."

"I can't figure out why." The archer muttered. "Our father was an abusive drunk who loved hitting anything that ran by. Mother stopped trying to cover for us after a while." He muttered bitterly and Hermione opened her eyes wide in surprise. "Barney…" Clint closed his eyes half a second. "Barney was a good brother back in those days. I don't remember much, I was maybe five or six. But I remember looking up to him, and him protecting me. Father ran his truck in a tree. Mother was on the passenger seat, and neither made it." Ironical ending, Clint supposed. "We were placed in foster care for a few years, and then Barney and I ran off to the circus. We stayed there a while. When he left…" his voice trailed off and he shrugged. "You heard that part. I haven't seen him since then."

Hermione took a few sips of her drink, her eyes dragging into the street, back to the small building where they had come from. Clint let her take her time; he wasn't quite sure she believed him anyway.

"How did you know I existed?" she suddenly asked.

"Thanks to Natalie." He replied. "When I got the call, since the guy was slightly unwilling to give out information over the phone, I asked her to run a research on whether it was worth coming over. And I wasn't lying back there; I really don't want anything of what Barney left behind. I just wanted to make sure you'd be in a good place. Just because I hated Barney doesn't mean I hold a grudge against his daughter."

Hermione stared at him suspiciously.

"What is it you do alrea-"

Clint didn't hear the end of her sentence; his eyes were already focused on a group of four that had just entered the coffee place. Three men, one woman. One of the men discreetly turned the door panel 'close' while the two others headed towards the bar. The woman walked in their direction, aiming a seductive smile at him. She was hot, Clint admitted. But he was definitively taken with a spider that would live up to her name if he even _dared_ consider giving the newcomer a second glance.

And even so, that group screamed trouble.

"You're done with your drink?" he asked Hermione, looking away from the woman but keeping her and her companions in his sight. The teen glared at him, no doubt upset upon realizing he hadn't been listening to her. "Cause we're leaving _now_."

The girl didn't have time to protest though, the unknown woman suddenly grabbed the teenager's collar and pulled her up, a knife in the other hand.

"No-one moves!" she shouted as her three companions pulled out guns in turn. "This is-"

She never finished her sentence.

 _20 minutes later…_

" _A hold-up? you got caught in a hold up?"_

Hill's voice was laced with shock and disbelief, probably because she couldn't fathom Delta Strike team's luck (or lack of luck). Clint could sympathize, he never wanted to have to kick four wannabes bad guys' asses the day he was finally meeting with blood relatives. Fortunately, Hermione got knocked out early, the woman hostage-taken having dropped her against the chair after being hit in the face by Clint's coffee mug. The three others –amateurs- had been so stunned to encounter resistance that they barely put up a fight when he came after them.

"A pathetic attempt of a hold-up," Clint corrected. He could picture Maria rubbing her temples to soothe an upcoming headache.

" _Do I have to pull my badge?"_

"It's fine; I left the premises before they could identify me clearly."

" _And what about the Granger girl?"_

Clint glanced over his shoulder; Hermione was still lying unconscious on the back seat of Natasha's car.

"She's fine." He hoped so. "So what next?"

" _Go to the Granger's house,_ " Maria ordered. _"I'll pick up Natasha on the way out and join you there."_

Clint wanted to protest, but Maria hung up before he could open his mouth. With one heavy sigh, he turned the engine on and drove off to find his brother's place. He knew the address of course and arrived there in a short time ( _whether he'd get a serious slap on the writs for the speed tickets and nearly driving on the wrong side of the road or not remained to be seen, there_ was _a reason why Natasha drove most of the time)._ Hermione was still out, probably because she was as exhausted as she looked. No neighbors glanced from the window when he carried her out from the back seat and into the house ( _the spare key was always hidden under the flower pot, go figure_ ), which he considered a win.

He carried her to room and dropped her gently on her bed. She didn't even stir, which only half surprised him; she still looked exhausted even in her sleep. Clint watched her a moment, wondering what they were going to do next. Then, he turned his attention to her room. He had always noticed, people's rooms were always a giveaway of their personality. Hermione's was in between messy and tidied-up. The floor was clean, but books, parchments and quills and other odd stuff he hadn't expected to find in Barney's daughter's room piled up in every available surface. He stepped closer to the nearest pile and checked the titles. Potions, charms, history of magic…Clint smirked. It seemed like the kid had a serious thing for magic-related stuff.

A book about to fall off the desk caught his attention. He checked out the title: 'Hogwarts, a History'. _Odd name_ , he thought, picking it up the book and going through the first pages. It resembled any good old history book he might have found in a high-school, with texts, history of the place, pictures and –Wait a sec; were the images…

The archer blinked a few times and stared at the portrait of a man occupying half the page. The man stared back, smiled widely and waved his hand.

Clint immediately shut the book and stared back at the girl, still asleep on the bed.

 _What the hell was that?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer/Reminder: None of this is mine, I just fixed a few grammar problems.**

 _ **Chapter Three**_

 _Hermione pov_

Hermione opened her eyes and immediately felt the harsh pain run through her head. She moaned and lifted her hand towards its origin, somewhere over her right ear, like she'd hit something hard-

A warm, wet tongue lavished her cheeks with attention.

"Crookshanks!" she protested, waving her hand to shoo the cat away. It meowed disapprovingly and jumped off her bed, sneaking out by the half-open window she opened earlier. The girl watched his fluffy tail disappear in the bushes and shook her head in disbelief. She loved her cat, really, but sometimes it acted so much like a…like a cat! Especially when they were home. Back at Hogwarts, Crookshanks had the whole castle to wander through. Here its domain was limited. Perhaps waking her up, leaving fur on her clothes and bringing back dead mice ( _her mother nearly fainted once_ ) was its way of getting back at her? Although she had read that this kind of behavior was a normal show of affection for a _normal_ cat. But since Crookshanks was a half-kneazle, shouldn't he behave differently?

Something moved downstairs. Hermione froze at the sound. A small part of her suddenly wished the past week had actually been her imagination and her parents were coming back from work.

" _An owl? What the fuck's an owl doing here in daylight?"_

Her hopes were crushed right away and she shut her eyelids tight to avoid a rush of tears. She recognized the voice belonging to her uncle.

 _Wait_ , she thought, opening her eyes again just as fast, did he say ' _owl'_?

She jumped out her bed, still rubbing the back of her head to soothe the pain. One last check that her wand was still in her pocket and she carefully headed downstairs. She stopped inches from the doorframe where she could overhear people talking:

"-plain later. Just keep 'pigeon carrier' in mind." An unknown, amused voiced spoke up.

"Just sayin' are they trained?" came her uncle's reply. "And isn't that against animal rights?"

"You think about owl's rights rather than the fact they are used as messengers?" The same unknown –female voice –replied.

"I'm less freaked out by owls delivering mail than live pictures in magic history books, so I'll dwell on animal rights right now, thank you."

Hermione stepped a little closer and peeked inside. Clint was standing on a side of the room, eying warily something out of her sight. A second later, he noticed her presence.

"Hello Hermione. Come in." He said, his face suddenly blank. That expression –or lack of- reminded her of when Harry was struggling to deal with particularly nasty news. And just like that, she realized he must have seen her stuff from Hogwarts spread around her bedroom and figured out she wasn't quite normal. Hermione swallowed nervously, and stepped in the living-room. There was a familiar white owl set on the couch's armchair, Hedwig's favorite spot whenever she came to deliver letters, and an unknown woman petting it. A brunette, tall and thin and wearing a business-like suit. Her steel-blue eyes set on the teenager and she smiled in a friendly way.

"Hello Hermione. Does your head still hurt?"

The teenager reflexively made a brief move towards the sore spot, but kept her eyes on the stranger. Hedwige didn't seem bothered by her presence, eyes closed in approval and demanding more attention. The owl's ease reassured Hermione somehow.

"I'm better. What happened?"

"You fell on your head and lost consciousness. Clint brought you back home. He tumbled upon your stuff and I believe he has a few questions for you."

"I can speak for my own goddamn self, Hill." He nearly slammed the 'History of Hogwarts' on the table and slid it towards Hermione. "Why in hell are pictures moving in that thing? What's the whole deal with the magic theme?"

His voice, a pitch higher than usual, and his tense body language unsettled her. Hermione suddenly remembered he was probably a lot more used –and prone- to violence than she, and unless she found herself in a life or death situation, she wasn't allowed to use magic.

"You're scaring the kid, Barton," the unknown woman said dryly.

"Don't tell me you're not freaked out by this!" he protested, pointing at the book like he'd point at a venomous snake. The brunette shrugged.

"I have the same in my library."

Both uncle and niece stared at her in surprise, the first for the unexpected revelation, the second for what that implied. And Hermione nearly slapped herself for not realizing that the woman had known about Hedwige and owl post all along. It had become such a natural occurrence at home, she hadn't thought odd that the woman accepted that fact so easily.

"Seriously Hill, you better have a goddamn good explanation for all this shi-"

The stranger –Hill –suddenly pulled out a wand from her sleeve and waved it towards Barton. The man's mouth shut close on its own accord as he stared at them in shock. The brunette turned back towards her.

"You have no idea how many times I wished I could have done that earlier." She said deadpan, then introduced herself: "Maria Hill. Your uncle and I work in the same company. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Hermione replied warily, eyeing her then her uncle again. Barton struggled trying to forcefully open his mouth with his hands. It didn't work. "Are you going to leave him like this?" Hermione asked. Hill glanced at the man, who glared at her in return.

"Unfortunately, you're right, this is not productive," she admitted and waved her wand towards Barton again. The man, now able to speak, glowered at her, torn between anger and fear.

"What the _HECK_ was that?" he demanded, eyes lingering on her wand.

"That," Hill replied, putting back the wand in her sleeve –Hermione caught the edge of a wand holster. "Was magic. Now please sit, I believe we have things to talk about."

Barton didn't bulge, his eyes drilling holes in the other woman's skull.

"Sit _now_ or _I_ will make you sit."

Hermione watched a handful of emotions run over Clint's face and he reluctantly pulled a chair.

"Take a deep breath and calm down." He obeyed, his eyes set on her. "I swear I won't use it on you if you keep calm." Hill went on calmly. The man didn't relax but he did appear slightly less nervous. Slightly. He actually looked like a man obeying to orders out of habit. Hermione vaguely wondered if this woman was his boss.

"So, magic exists." He said. Nod. "And you never bothered, I don't know, telling us?"

"That's why 0-8-4 exists, Barton." Hill replied dryly. The man glared harder. "And it's level 9 classification."

"There's a _level 9_?" he repeated, either in disbelief or anger, or both.

"What is this-" Hermione started, but wasn't given the chance to continue.

"We work for a high-profile security company." Hill interrupted, turning back her attention to the teenager. "Your uncle is one of our best agents."

"And what if I had met a witch on the job?" Barton grumbled, still sending daggers at the woman. He seemed to be recovering from the shock fast enough. "Can I blame my 2 per cent failure on that?"

"I'm in charge of magical affairs." The brunette went on, ignoring the man with an impressive cool. "I am here because your uncle had no knowledge of the magical world beforehand."

"Because you decided not to warn-" Hill raised an eyebrow at him. Barton rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll shut up."

"Actually, now is the time you step in. This is between you and your niece. I'm just here for the paperwork and make sure you don't cause a diplomatic incident on English soil."

"Hey that time wasn't _my_ fault!"

Hill raised an eyebrow again, and he shut up, again. Hermione seriously considered asking how she did it because she was ninety-nine per cent sure magic wasn't involved.

"If you need to deal with anything concerning magical administration, call me. I'll be in the kitchen to fix some food, if that's all right with you." the brunette said, turning back to the teenager. Hermione would have rather have the presence of a witch in the room, but she did need to sort things out with her uncle sooner than later. Hill walked out, not before sending a warning stare at her colleague, and left them alone.

Barton and she eyed each other warily.

"I'm not any different than a muggl- I mean a normal human." Hermione said eventually. She could do this. Hill was in the other room in case the situation turned badly, and the man appeared cooled enough. "Just add the magic part."

Barton snorted.

" _Just_ the magic part. I can't believe Maria…" He left his voice trail off, still digesting the news. "How did Barney take it?"

"He was surprised at first, not in a good way." Hermione admitted. "But mom was proud and I think he got used to the idea." Her father hadn't looked extremely thrilled, but the resilience had slowly melted and when she had returned at the end of her first year, he seemed to have accepted the situation.

"Hum." Barton merely grunted, and right when she thought he'd leave the room, he muttered: "Don't mind me, it's just…I mean, I never thought…"

"It's fine," Hermione hurriedly waved away his sentence. "I don't expect you to –eh –acknowledge that right away. If you need time-"

"I'll come around." He assured her, and she hoped he was right. "Just –no funky stuff around me for a while, okay? I might get jumpy." He offered her an odd, not quite reassuring smile. "You don't want me jumpy. I might hurt you accidentally."

"I'm not allowed to use magic out of school," Hermione pointed, hoping it would reassure him. She wasn't sure how to interpret his last words. Was he often under attack? Did he use to be? If he worked in security, maybe he was, but frequently enough to be jumpy around a teenager? Really, what kind of life did he live?

"Good. I mean, okay." The subject of magic still put him ill-at-ease. She didn't blame him. "I'll just, uh, forget the _magic_ part for now. So, uh, why don't we just…" he motioned the couch across him. Hermione followed his instruction and sat down. "So, are you returning to your school in September? Or," he glanced at the corridor Hill had taken to head to the kitchen. "Or do you want to go to an American school? I'm gonna be honest, I'd rather you stay an intern. Sometimes I get to leave for months because of the job, and I'd rather not leave you alone at home."

"I'd rather stay," she replied, slightly relieved. He didn't sound like he'd object her returning to Hogwarts. "And I can take care of everything that concerns magic. I mean, I might need a signature or your authorization as my guardian, and I'll have to return to Diagon Alley to buy my furniture, but I can handle that." She added quickly when he looked twitchy.

Barton nodded in relief.

"Let me know if I need to sign anything for your school. Now about living accommodations," he carried. "I'm not intending to keep this house."

His tone was firm and final. Hermione had expected it. It didn't mean she felt upset about it.

"Couldn't you rent it?" she still asked. She didn't want to let go of the house she had grown it without attempting negotiations beforehand. "It's a nice place, and you could make an extra income."

Barton stared at her for a long time.

"I'll think about it," but he obviously wasn't keen on keeping it. "I have an apartment in New York. It's not big, but I have a room I can convert into a bedroom." Clint hesitated before adding. "Natasha –the woman you saw in Harrison's office –and I are…together. She has a spare key."

The way he spoke let her understand there was more than he was willing to share, but Hermione didn't push for it. So they basically lived together, she deduced, but not all the time. A little detail caught her attention.

"I thought her name was Natalie."

Clint gave her a crocked smile.

"Sorry, that's part of our job. I can't tell you more, so I'll ask you not to question further."

"Are you like spies or something?" Hermione asked anyway. "You make it sound like it's all very hush-hush."

"High-profile security business, kid." Clint replied with a shrug. "Most of our jobs are classified. So, what I can offer you is a place in New York during the holidays, while you return to school in England."

Hermione thought the change of subject was not subtle at all, but she nodded nonetheless. The deal suited her and if they were going to live together, she could always seek answers later. More importantly, she was grateful her uncle appeared rather flexible yet took their situation seriously. In a way, she supposed it arranged him that she remained in Scotland for school; he wouldn't have to keep an eye on her most of the time. She just hoped she could rely on him in time of need. Clint cleared his throat and she returned her attention on him.

"That's going to be the beginning of a lot of changes for both of us. I'm not telling you it's going to be easy, but I think we can make it if we work together." He said softly, sounding genuine and determined. "Deal?"

He extended his hand to her and this time she took it without hesitation.

Traveling to a foreign country had always been an adventure for Hermione. Her parents had brought her to several places and she had loved it. They had promised her they would travel to America one day, once she was older. Hermione never thought she'd actually go to the United States under these circumstances.

"You're all right?"

She glanced on the left, where Clint was standing close to her. Natasha and Hill had decided to stay behind a while longer to settle some business ( _apparently Mr. Harrison was part of a drug ring, which was why they had come to England at first place; and they wanted her to get used to her new environment and having her uncle around. That fact alone convinced her they were actually secret police rather than working for a security company, no matter how high-profile they claimed it to be_ ) and Clint and her left the next day.

They had gone through customs, taken the plane and flown straight to New York. Clint had started snoring soon after take-off and left Hermione to dwell with her thoughts. Upon their arrival early in the afternoon, Clint had flashed a badge through security that had avoided them to go through customs again, and had avoided Crookshanks the customary forty-days-quarantine. The drive through the city had gone way too fast; her eyes wide open had taken in the skyscrapers, the atmosphere, the crowd…she felt like she had stepped in a whole different world.

Then, they had stopped at a tall habitation building. It didn't have an extraordinary façade, looked rather battered compared to others, but was exceptionally high in her mind.

"I hope you don't have vertigo." Clint said with a hint of a smile. "I live on the top floor."

Hermione grunted in return and cautiously picked up Crookshanks' transporting cage while Clint carried her two large suitcases to the elevator. Most of her school furniture had been shrunken by Hill and tucked in her pack of underwear. The teen didn't even want to picture how they would have transported her stuff from one place to another had the witch not been there. Just for that, she wished she could be seventeen already. The elevator led them to the thirtieth level and in a corridor with only two doors.

"The neighbors are an elderly couple from San Francisco. Usually quiet, and Mrs Miller's cookies are good." Clint offered as he opened the second door. "I'll get you a spare key first thing tomorrow."

Hermione looked around, a bit tired and cranky from the jetlag. Right past the front door was the living room, containing a large couch and a large TV and stereo. A library stood on the wall right next to a window giving on the street. She stepped further in the living room. An opening led to the kitchen while another brought her on three or four doors.

Clint dropped her luggage near the couch, making her jump. Crookshanks meowed in protest from having its cage shaken.

"Your room –future room – 's right there." He said, pointing a half-opened door. "You'll have to sleep on a mattress t'night and maybe tomorrow, but I'll get you a bed asap. My bedroom's just there," he added, motioning a door on his left. "Bathroom in the middle. I mostly use the apartment to crash between two assignments, so there's not much to see. Feel free to add your personal touch."

The decoration was definitively minimalist; no pictures or paintings or anything decorative was hung. Even hotel rooms had better ornaments. She peeked inside her future room. Rather empty, like the rest, aside from two large closets in the far end; smaller than her old room too, but big enough to be comfortable.

"I'll show you around the block the next few days. Maria might take a day to deal with the magical part. I'm not good with paperwork," he said with a sheepish smile. "So, what do you think of it?"

Hermione took a last glance around. It was a far cry from her home, but she could get used to it.

"It'll be fine," she assured him. She put down Crookshanks' cage and opened it. The cat hurriedly stormed out and ran into an adjacent room. Clint followed right away, certainly to make sure it wouldn't cause any damage. She entered her future bedroom and looked around, focusing on where she could stash her stuff. She would ask Clint if he couldn't get a smaller closet to put her clothes and a desk to work on. The bed, she decided, would be placed under the window. Her school furniture would fit on shelves in the left corner behind the entrance door and Crookshanks could have his own place to sleep next to it.

Hermione stepped closer to the nearest closet, briefly wondering what it contained. Since it wasn't properly locked, so she peeked inside. And let her jaw fall. She expected clothes, furniture, maybe even nothing, but not…

"Hey Hermione, do you want some-" Clint stepped in the room and stopped talking when he saw her staring at the contents of the innocent-looking closet.

Hermione glanced blankly at him and blurted the first thing that came to her mind.

"That's a _lot_ of guns."


	4. Chapter 4

_Clint pov_

The phone rang at five am. Clint picked up reluctantly, wishing that he could have one full night to himself. Maria had promised she'd secure a full week off-duty to set the pace with Hermione and give him time not to screw up ( _because she had_ that _much faith in him_ ), and that she would herself stop by the next day in the late afternoon to take care of the 'magic stuff' since he didn't want to associate with that shit anytime soon.

( _Okay, maybe she hadn't worded it that way, but the intonation was clear. It somewhat intrigued him, because he might have suggested magic freaked him out, but he wasn't against a slow approach to it. He had that feeling Maria didn't like talking of magic, even less using it except apparently to zip his mouth. Maybe he could ask Natasha to dig on that trail. She was much better than him in subtle interrogation and Maria liked her more.)_

Clint glanced quickly at the number, which turned out untraceable. He wagered it to be Natasha, and picked up.

"'lo?"

" _You let her go through_ _ **my**_ _ **stack**_ _?"_

The sharp and biting tone promised retribution in case the question was answered positively. He bit back a groan and fell back on the mattress.

"Morning to you too Tasha."

" _Hill called me half an hour earlier. I have a solo starting today, and she asked what kind of munitions I left at your place. I'm taking a wild guess; your niece opened the closets?"_

"Hill is a tattle-tell, and no, I didn't let her go through your stack." Clint retorted petulantly. "She just looked, didn't touch anything."

" _I told you a hundred times to lock those damn things!"_ she sounded angry. The man winced, thinking he was good for the couch for a couple weeks. _"And Hill told me to remind you that Deputy Director does not mean 'call me every time you screw up and since you're a big man with big guns, you should handle that kind of situation on your own'."_

"I didn't screw up!" The heavy silence on the other line was loud of significance. "Fine, maybe I did a little. But I have everything under control."

" _Really_?" the sound of her voice was laced with doubt. He rolled his eyes.

"I handled it just fine. She asked a couple of questions, I told her that was our ammunition for emergency missions and she let it go. I even asked her if she wanted me to teach her how to shoot."

" _You are hopeless."_

"Hey, she agreed. I think she was more intrigued than freaked out actually. You said a solo mission? I thought we were-"

" _I'm off on a surveillance in Florida, it's just to keep busy."_ Natasha replied dryly. " _Maria doesn't think it's a good idea if the girl had to confront a pair of assassins at once. She claims I'm going to scare off the kid."_ Pause. _"I suspect her and Coulson to have money on how long it'll take before either you or your niece run away."_

Clint frowned, a thought crossing his mind.

"Does Coulson know about…" he trailed off, suddenly wondering if Maria had mentioned the magic to Natasha or was leaving him the honors. Back at the Grangers, Maria had showed up alone and let Natasha take care of Harrison with SHIELD. "You know what, never mind. How long will you be gone?"

" _About a week, maybe less depending on how fast I work."_ She sounded as annoyed as he felt. _"I have to go now."_

"I'll see you when you're back then," he replied. "Take care."

She hung up and Clint was left to stare at the ceiling. The first rays of daylight came through his curtains, lightening slightly the room. There was a crack up there, a bizarre kind of stain in the shape of an hourglass. Clint often stared at it when he started missing Natasha. It saddened and amused him all the same, how much of a sap he could be sometimes. Another glance at the clock and he figured he might as well get up. Hermione would probably stay a while longer in bed (he remembered how fast she fell asleep) but he had to draw a list of things to do to make his niece feel a little bit more welcomed. So he heated up the water, took out two mugs and some coffee and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen to write everything down and make sure he wouldn't forget anything.

Crooshanks, much to his surprise, jumped on the table next to him and rubbed its head against his hand, demanding petting and attention. Clint chuckled and indulged the feline, one hand scratching its chin, the other putting a few words down.

He was still debating whether Hermione would need to flameproof her room for whenever she manipulated her potions or not _(her furniture was still shrunken, but he had seen bottles of various potions and a part of him had wondered if he truly wanted to know what the hell those things were for, and given Maria's raised eyebrows at time, he figured he didn't)_ when she emerged, hair in a mess and eyes still sleepy. Crooshanks' eyes narrowed and it purred louder. Hermione stared at her uncle, then the cat, and back at her uncle.

"He likes you," she stated, and Clint shrugged. He wasn't about to tell that he had been scratching her cat's back and chin for about two hours. "Crooshanks has good instincts when it comes to people," she added with a smile.

"Oh really? Why, is he magical?"

 _(Although he'd keep that thought for himself because if the cat turned out to be magical, he had no idea what it could do, Clint thought it had an ugly face, like someone had smashed it against a wall. He liked its fur color though. It reminded him of Natasha's hair, that one time Jasper pulled a prank on her by switching her hair color product and to stop her from throttling him before he left on an important mission, he had brought her to his room and distracted her with-)_

"Not really." Hermione's voice interrupted him from lovely thoughts. "He's a half-Kneazle –I mean, they are really smart creatures. So actually, I guess you can say he has some magic."

Clint put down the pen and directed his full attention on her.

"So…what can it do? Aside from –uh –feeling people out?"

"Catch _very_ bad rats." She replied, biting back a smile at that thought. For some reason, Clint thought there was more than a pun lying behind her words and decided to play a hunch; this _was_ magic after all:

"So he caught the bad guy, eh? Was it someone who could change into a rat?" And given Hermione's surprised expression, he had aimed right. But a glint of unease crossed her eyes, so he decided to brush it off and investigate a bit later. "Cool. Maybe I should bring you with me at work. That would spare me some time deciding whether my –clients –are idiots or not."

Hermione grimaced awkwardly and looked around the kitchen counter. It took Clint a few seconds to realize that she was hesitating on what to do.

"Just…help yourself with whatever suits you. Coffee's on the table, I got tea there," he waved towards a cupboard. "And waffles and stuff over there." He pointed another one. "Cutlery is in the upper left drawer."

"If I open the upper right one, will I find bullets or grenades?"

Clint couldn't help but smirk.

"Nah. Don't worry about that. Just make yourself some breakfast and we'll go shopping. I want your bedroom and other furniture selected and set by the end of tomorrow. And Maria's stopping by five pm, so we better get going soon. Sorry if I sound in a hurry, but I only got one week off and I'd rather have you settle before I got to leave."

"It's fine," she assured him, hesitantly starting to go through the cupboard to fish out something eatable. She frowned when she pulled a box of muffins. "You knew the expiration date was from last month on this one?"

He hastily wrote 'groceries' at the bottom of the list.

Shopping was quickly done, much to his relief. Hermione had picked up her furniture in the first shop with ease, settling her eye on a simple bed with drawers underneath to stash her furniture, one practical closet for her clothes and an average-sized desk for her to work on. The whole was ordered to be delivered in the evening. They stopped to make a double of his apartment key and also bought sheets and a few extra necessities –soap, shampoo, hairbrush, and toothbrush. They actually spent more time in the animal shop to buy the basics for Crooshanks. Since Hermione had come from England, he took her a cell phone –actually, two; a fancy one and a basic one, in case the fancy one broke down or got lost.

They had a late lunch at Olive Garden before heading to a Walmart to pick up proper food for the evening. When they returned to the apartment, the clock was ticking near four, which left him about an hour before Maria showed up. So they cleaned her room and he pushed the weapon-filled closets in the living room. He'd have to find another place, or hide them in the sofa or make other arrangements in the apartment, like a hidden closet or something. Hermione wasn't a two year old with grabby hands, but nearly all weapons were loaded in case of emergency and he really didn't want to suffer Natasha's ire if she became too curious. He was even lucky she didn't open _his_ closet, where he hid his three favorite bows and arrows.

Clint was reflecting on where he'd hide his and Natasha's stack from now on when he heard someone knock at the door. A quick glance through the peephole and he recognized his boss' familiar figure. Hermione was back in the living room, attempting to put the bright red collar around Crooshanks' neck. While Clint had no problem letting the cat wander around as long as it kept clean, he didn't want it to be mistaken for a stray. The collar had been the compromise.

"Welcome to my humble house," Clint said with an exaggerated salute. Maria rolled her eyes and stepped in. She was in a black pair of jeans and blue top. She had let her hair down, probably because it made her features softer.

"I won't take long," she informed him and added before he could ask: "And yes, it will be better if you stay."

And she headed straight to the living room. Clint took a deep breath before joining them. Fortunately, Hermione appeared rather happy to see Maria, if only because she cancelled the spell on her magical furniture. They ran over the basics, covered Hermione's legal living in the US, created a social security number, talked about opening an account in a bank and convert half of her parents' money in dollars so she would actually have a financial support in case.

Questions like the use of magic in America, correspondence transatlantic, and potential summer classes came after. Clint abandoned them at this point to welcome the furniture delivery and helped the guys put everything in the elevator. He then worked on building the bed, the closet and the rest while Crooshanks kept a watchful eye on him from the top of his cat tree. He could still hear Maria and Hermione talk in the living room but not their conversation.

At some point, the cat jumped on the floor and sat in front of him, his head tilted on the side, feline eyes intensely fixed on him. Clint stared back.

"Whadd'ya want Crook?" The cat blinked, as if startled by the new nickname _(Crooshanks was a mouthful, Crook somehow sounded better)_ , but eventually liked its lips. "Oh, you're hungry? Weeell I think the cat food is in the kitchen." The cat stood on its four legs and trotted towards the door. Once at the threshold, it stopped and turned its head over the shoulder and meowed impatiently.

Clint rolled his eyes and followed, somewhat amused to be bossed around by a cat of all things. But as he left the room for the kitchen, Maria called him.

"Barton, come here a sec."

The man grumbled something and walked back in the living room. Crooshanks grunted and reluctantly followed.

"Got papers to sign?" he asked.

Maria stood up, so did Hermione.

"I'll go feed Crooshanks," she volunteered, and disappeared in the kitchen. Maria waited until she was gone to turn towards him.

"We had a talk. Hermione will subscribe to a couple of summer classes, so she won't wallow all day in your apartment but you'll have to deal with transportation. Also, you might want to know minors are allowed to practice magic as long as people who aren't aware of it aren't in sight. Will that be a problem?"

Clint frowned. He'd need a talk with Hermione once Maria was gone.

"Who else knows about magic in SHIELD? Did you tell Tasha?"

She evaluated him quickly.

"Fury, the head section of 8-0-4. Coulson suspects, but he's only level 8 and yes, I demonstrated to Natasha. Speaking of which, you are both scheduled to have a one on one with me next week. It was the condition for the Widow not to freak out," Hill muttered reluctantly. "That, and give me some time to practice again."

"Why, you're out of shape?" he asked teasingly.

Hill sent him a flat stare.

"I haven't used a wand for duels or battle in years. And I don't want you to kill me by accident." She corrected the angle of her handbag over her shoulder. "I'll see you Monday at 0800."

And she left promptly, without waiting for his goodbye and he headed towards the kitchen. Hermione was running her hand down Crooshanks back while it ate and jumped slightly when she realized he was standing next to her. She looked tired, he reflected. Probably due to the jetlag and all the events gone in the past two days. She was still a kid, he reflected, even though at her age he was completing his training and showing off at the circus.

"You okay?" he asked. "The talk with Maria went fine?"

She gave him an uncertain smile.

"Yeah, it went well. Can we go through the details later? I'm a bit tired."

She was avoiding the discussion, but Clint would let it slide for tonight.

"We'll talk about that tomorrow. And then I'll show you how to shoot." He added with a crocked smile, hoping it would loosen up the building tension.

"Sure," she replied, and he was glad to realize she sounded genuine. "Thank you, for the…" she waved in her bedroom's direction. "I'm sorry I didn't help more."

"No bother. You can make dinner while I finish it if you want."

Hermione nodded, satisfied with the deal.

"So are you going to contact your friends by the normal means, or will you use an owl?"

Hermione smiled a little and dug her fork in the noodles. She had kept it simple, Mac and Cheese and a steak. They had started eating in silence, but Clint figured if he wanted to know more about his niece, he would have to work a bit. Hermione didn't appear to be the kind of girl who would voluntarily offer information. Starting with her friends sounded like a good way to get an idea of her lifestyle.

"The two friends I have use owls for communication," she explained. "Harry lives with his aunt and uncle, but he uses Hedwige –the white owl you saw in my living room. I send him a message, to tell him I was moving to the US. And Ron is a wizard, so he wouldn't know how to use muggle posting. I mean, normal posting."

Clint frowned.

"'Muggle'? Is that the term you use for non-magical people? It's the second time you let it slip."

Hermione nodded meekly.

"Dad was a bit offended whenever I used it." she explained. "He said it was as if I was feeling superior to him."

Clint 'hummed' as he thought. The word didn't sound particularly insulting to him. But then again, in his memories, Barney liked having control over things. That he was considered different from his own daughter might have unnerved him.

"I see," he just said. "So tell me more about your friends. Did you get to see them this summer? Did you meet them at school?"

Hermione nodded and looked slightly more comfortable.

"In the train leading to school, first year. I was looking for Neville's toad –his pet toad. Neville is a classmate, a little distracted and he had lost it. But I didn't really talk to them till I…" she suddenly bit her lower lip nervously. "I got into trouble and they helped me out. We became friends after that."

Clint frowned, feeling she was skipping a lot off important details.

"What kind of trouble exactly?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Nothing life-endangering!" she assured him a little too quickly. Clint put down his own fork and crossed his arms. They exchanged a fierce battle of stare, which she eventually lost by lowering her eyes. "I was in the restroom and there was a troll. Harry and Ron knocked him out. That was it."

"A _troll_?" Clint blurted in disbelief. "Like a huge ugly thing with a mace? And that was wandering in the school filled with _children_? Does that kind of stuff happen often?"

Hermione had eyes wide open, like a deer caught in headlights. The man was about to question her further when she interrupted:

"It's getting late," she babbled. "I'll just go to bed."

With a speed he hadn't suspected from her, she took her plate and escaped to the sink to put the unfinished food in a Tupperware and clear her dish. Clint stared at her in disbelief until she disappeared in her bedroom.

"We will have a serious talk about this, Hermione." He warned, firmly decided to learn more about that school. "Don't think you'll escape it!"


	5. Chapter 5

The first night had been easy; with the trip and the tiredness and jet lag, she had fallen like a rock. But even if the second day had been as ( _if not more_ ) busy, she couldn't rest. Her last discussion with Clint unnerved her a little.

She wasn't afraid of him per say, but he had that _look_ sometimes, like he could see right through her. Her father had the same expression, inquiring and warning at the same time. But with her uncle, it made her nervous. She knew her father ( _or until recently, she had thought she knew him_ ), and had never been intimidated by him. Although Clint had behaved like a nice guy _(and Crookshanks liked him, so he couldn't be that bad_ ) he was still basically a stranger. He was also determined to act as a proper guardian and…and she feared he'd make her tell everything and in the end, be opposed to her return to Hogwarts. The worst of all? She was sure she'd end up spilling the beans.

As if sensing her unease, Crookshanks jumped from his cat tree and curled next to her, purring softly in reassurance. Hermione smiled and scratched behind his ear. Her parents would have never allowed her pet to sleep on the bed and usually, Hermione ushered her cat to its sleeping spot, but tonight? She felt sad, lonely and isolated. She was jumping into a world with rules and people she knew nothing of. Her parents were dead. Her friends were on the other side of the Atlantic and couldn't help her. The girl inhaled sharply and shut her eyes tight.

"C'mon Hermione," she encouraged herself. "This is just a new phase. It's a new chapter, and it's up to you to write the ending." She opened her eyes and glanced at her familiar. The cat stared back with eyes gleaming in the dark. "You back me up, Crookshanks?"

The cat meowed softly, although she halfway wondered if it was because she had stopped scratching it.

"You're the best, y'know that?" Crookshanks purred. Hermione smiled and closed her eyes. She felt the cat moving closer until his fur brushed her hand. Knowing he was nearby eased her sadness and she promptly fell asleep.

 **TUFA**

When Hermione woke up that morning –quite early actually, compared to the previous few days –and headed to the kitchen, she wasn't expecting her uncle spread on the couch. He was dressed in a pj pants and a light sweater, barefoot, slightly snoring with his head buried into a cushion.

"That's his punishment for forgetting to lock the closets. I kicked him out of bed."

The girl jumped and turned around. A redhead woman stood behind her, staring impassively but with the corner of her mouth tilted upwards. She was also wearing a man's shirt. And only a man's shirt. Hermione mentally thanked whoever had made the cloth long enough to cover her upper thigh. She was a girl and shared her dorm with three others, but she didn't need to see a grown up woman, and even more very likely her uncle's girlfriend, with less clothes than necessary on.

"Good morning," the redhead said with a polite smile. She was holding a cup, probably coffee, in her left hand and extended her right for a shake. "I'm Natasha."

She reluctantly took it. The self-insurance and shamelessness of the woman put her off. Mrs Granger would have never dared walk around in such little clothing, and a small part of Hermione thought that Natasha had certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

She heard an amused chuckle and glanced tentatively at the redhead again.

"Don't look so shy, I'm not going to eat you. I'm in the bedroom if this idiot asks." She yawned. "It was a long drive back."

And she promptly turned around and shut the door behind. Hermione just stared at in disbelief. What the hell had just happened?

"Sorry, she was supposed to return on Friday." Clint's voice made her jump. The man looked exhausted with huge bags under his eyes and a tightness in his mouth. "Can't believe she ditched them on a whim." He muttered in disbelief as he switched from a lying position to a sitting once and rubbed his face. "You had breakfast yet?"

"…I just woke up?" she said, her words sounding more like a question to her own ears.

"Okay, get dressed, we're getting breakfast out." He said and suddenly paused and glanced at her awkwardly. "If that's okay with you of course. I want…Tasha's tired, she needs her sleep, and I forgot to buy an extra pack of her favorite coffee yesterday. With some luck, she'll only be at her second cup when we return. And I'll show you around the corner."

His uneasiness was oddly amusing for a man like him. This Natasha must have a lot of influence on her uncle. And Hermione realized she might need to get along with that woman in the near future. At least, she seemed nice enough.

The coffee shop Clint brought her to was small but cozy and had a large amount of pastries. Typical, Hermione thought with a smile, before letting herself being tempted by hot chocolate and a donut. They ate in comfortable silence, surrounded by the small talks of other customers coming for food. She watched them from the corner of the eyes, spotting the differences she could make with English behavior. So far, the most obvious was the noise people made. Suddenly, Clint cleared his throat to catch her attention. He had eaten his stuff in a blink and was looking at her expectantly. Hermione immediately knew he wanted to approach last night's subject.

"Listen-"

"We should-"

They both exchanged an amused and shy glance. Clint cleared his throat and nodded towards her:

"Go ahead."

"No, I –you go ahead," she retorted with a shrug. He hesitated before going on:

"I'm sorry, about yesterday night. I know I shouldn't have tried to push you. But I am unfamiliar with your world and I just want to make sure you are safe." He narrowed his eyes. "Given your reaction, trolls aren't supposed to wander inside a school." Hermione hesitated, wondering if explaining the situation would make anything better. He seemed to guess her thoughts, as he added more gently: "Hermione, if your parents let you go to that school, then I have no reason to prevent you from going too. I just want to understand."

Her lips thinned into a line and stared at her hands. What could she possibly tell him? Even her parents didn't know all the details. After a brief inner debate, she made up her mind; if she was briefing him on the situation, she might as well begin from the start.

"In the…in our community, there was a madman, a Dark Lord. A powerful and feared criminal wizard," she added, but Clint nodded to mention he had understood. "It's a long story but to cut it short, he went after Harry's parents, killed them both, but when he tried to kill Harry, it failed."

"Harry is one of your friends, right?"

Hermione nodded. She thought a few moments of a manner to explain clearly without entering into spooky details.

"He cast a deadly spell on him, but Harry survived, we still don't know why as of today. As a consequence, You-Know-Who vanished that night, but he didn't entirely die. He came back two years ago and had been trying to kill Harry since then."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

"How do you 'don't entirely die' from a spell exactly?" Given his tone, Hermione suspected him to be very uncomfortable. She could understand, especially if magic put him ill-at-ease.

"His body was destroyed, but his mind –or soul –remained. He's been possessing animals and lately people. That's how we know he's been gaining power again." She added as an afterthought. She might as well tell him the facts instead of hiding things for now and anger him later.

"Uh…okay," Clint looked a bit puzzled, but nodded in reluctant acceptance. "So the troll in the school was sent from that…Dark Lord for Harry?"

"Not exactly," Hermione sighed inwardly and went on: "Hogwarts has the reputation of being the safest place in England and our Headmaster used it to hide a stone that would have helped You-Know-Who to regain a body. He possessed Professor Quirell; one of our teachers. The troll was supposed to be a diversion so he could sneak into the place the stone was kept hidden. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

The man sighed in frustration.

"And yet Barney let you return there?"

Hermione winced.

"I…didn't tell them that part."

Somewhat, Clint wasn't surprised. He didn't comment though. Yet.

"And aside from the troll, what other dangers did your friend's killer…what's his name already?"

"We don't pronounce it." she replied with a wince, knowing it might appear to be cowardice. That was how she had felt it in the beginning. "It brings bad luck."

"Why, is it magic too? Or is that superstition?"

Yups, Clint was definitively skeptical now.

"Look, I had no clue of wizarding culture when I started school three years ago. No-one pronounced his name, so I did the same. It became a habit."

"You're just giving that guy more power over your life. You don't use his name is like…" Clint shook his head. "That guy must have loved it."

Hermione felt her blood boil; how dare he…he didn't know the fear she read in other wizards' eyes whenever Voldemort was mentioned; he had no idea of the damages one man had done.

"I see a lot of bad guys in my line of work," he added when he saw her expression. "Being afraid of pronouncing their name is a consecration. So I'll ask again, what's his name?"

This was ridiculous.

"Voldemort."

But Clint wasn't done.

"What's his _real_ name? I don't think a parent would call their kid 'Voldemort' on purpose. Unless they're twisted."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Most people don't even know it."

"But you do." It wasn't a question.

"Why do you think I do?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You just said 'most'. Again, what's his name?"

She gave up.

"Tom Riddle."

Clint looked almost disappointed.

"I'd expect something more spectacular. No wonder why he changed it to Voldemort, it's a tidbit scarier."

"It didn't stop him from gathering a solid bunch of followers and killing a lot of people," she replied bitterly.

"Go to a few countries under dictatorship, I'm sure he can take lessons from them."

That was the last straw. Hermione hit her hand flat on the table. Clint didn't flinch, even though a couple clients nearby stopped talking to eye them.

"Will you take me seriously?" she growled. This was important, couldn't he see it?

"I am. And I am truly considering allowing you back to your school." He replied sharply. "I'm sure Barney wouldn't have, had he known what was really going on."

A flash of panic ran through her chest. She thought of Harry and Ron and the friends she had made, and the dangers lingering over them. She couldn't leave them alone.

"You can't do that!" she protested. "I need to return there."

"Maria can probably find you a school with a little less danger running around."

Hermione snorted.

"Yeah, because America is so much safer." His face remained unmoved. "They need me there! I'm one of Harry's best friends. He's…he's like family, I can't let him down."

Clint didn't answer, but stared at her impassively. She didn't understand. She thought boarding school would arrange him (and she was used to danger now).

"I'll think about it," he muttered eventually, using the same tone he had when talking about her parents' house. "We need to go back now."

Hermione wanted to protest some more, but given her uncle's attitude, arguing now would bring nothing. She reluctantly followed him outside, promising herself she would do anything to persuade him to let her return to Hogwarts. Even if she had to steal his goddamn credit card and pay for the ticket herself. She was still running over different scenarios when something caught her attention. There was a gas station on her right, and a bakery on the left. Hadn't Hill mentioned something about an owl office around the corner?

"Clint," she called, and he glanced over his shoulder. "Can you give me a little while? There's a post office, _our_ kind of post office somewhere around."

He frowned.

"You want to write to your friends?"

"Yeah, just a quick word to let them know I've arrived safely. I didn't have time yet."

Clint sighed and dug into his pocket. He pulled out two bucks of ten and handed them to her.

"I don't know if your wizard currency is the same," he said. "But I'm sure sending messages across the Atlantic isn't free yet, even for your people."

She nearly hit herself for not thinking of it earlier.

"Thanks," she replied, taking the money. "Do you want to come or…"

"I need to buy Tasha's coffee. Meet me here in, what, twenty?"

"It'll be enough, thanks."

She darted to the corner and, after a quick search, spotted a pitiful-looking store. The 'Owl's Carrier', was the title. It was a bold move to install a wizarding commerce in the middle of a muggle town, but that was America for you, she supposed. The inside was busting with magic, with wizards strolling right and left, taking papers, writing, chatting, laughing and for a moment, Hermione felt back at home. She missed a magic environment, she realized. This was something familiar that belonged to her only, and would always be comfort.

Miss Hill had told her the previous day that this particular post office offered a place to write your own letter if needed, and that they accepted dollars in need of payment. After years of mingling with muggles, American wizards had found it easier to slightly adapt their society to theirs.

Spotting the writing space, Hermione borrowed a notepad and a quill and started writing.

" _Dear Harry,_

 _Sorry for the lapse of time before this reply. I got your last letter just before my departure to America. Yeah, you didn't read wrong, my uncle brought me back to the United States nearly two days after we met. He lives in an apartment with his girlfriend (I haven't talked to her much yet) in the middle of New York. Crookshanks likes the place. It's a whole lot different than my-_ " she inhaled sharply, biting back the sudden tear forming in her eye _"old home. Clint and I talked about Hogwarts and the 'dangers' I met there. I think he's not enthusiastic about me going back. I still have the rest of summer to convince him otherwise. I hope the Dursley aren't giving you a hard time. I'll write later when I have the time. Say hi to Ron for me._ "

The last sentence was added as an afterthought. She couldn't understand why Ron hadn't replied to her yet and it hurt a bit. He was always there for Harry, why not for her?

Hermione folded the letter and headed to the counter where a wizard looked bored out of his mind. When she gave it to him, he glanced at the address then stared at her.

"Want the fast course?" he asked in a robotic voice.

"How much does it costs?"

"Normal course is three dollars, delivery between five and ten days. Fast is seven, delivery under three days. For a ten, you get the VIP space and letter delivery is assured for 72 hours. Lots of international mail lately, y'see."

Hermione sighed and pulled out a ten.

"Make it fast." She could always send in slow later. "Thank you sir."

The postman took the letter, stamped it and threw it over his shoulder. Hermione watched as it folded into an envelope on its own and flew to a small alcove on which was written 'INT.F'. The paper disappeared in what appeared to be a small tunnel.

"Have a good day," the man said robotically and stared at someone over her shoulder. "Next please."

Hermione stepped aside and turned away, feeling slightly better. At least, Harry wouldn't worry about her lack of answer. Her good mood slighty dampened when she saw her uncle already waiting for her at the intersection, a plastic bag in hand.

"I have one condition." He blurted immediately as she joined him. "I teach you how to shoot and fight –proper fighting, no hocus pocus or whatever you people hide in your pocket. And then, only then, I'll consider letting you go back."


	6. Chapter 6

**Reminder: This isn't mine!**

 **Chapter Six**

 **Clint pov**

"Do you exercise often?" he asked once they got home. Natasha was still sleeping, the bedroom door closed, but an empty cup lay in the sink. The wrapping of the coffee was left abandoned on the table though, which probably meant she had noticed the absence of her favorite brewage. This was an obvious passive-aggressive warning. He was so glad he had bought some extra: an upset Natasha meant unpleasant repercussions –for him anyway.

"Not really, we don't have ordinary sports at school." Hermione replied, picking up said wrapping and throwing it in the garbage, oblivious to the message. "I thought you wanted to teach me how to defend myself."

"I actually said 'fight'," he corrected, "But it's good to know when to run away too." He hesitated and evaluated his options. What kind of program could he make her follow? She wasn't a junior agent, he wasn't preparing her for a mission. "Y'know what, I'll think about what to teach you." And talk to Natasha about it. She helped Maria plan trainees' sessions sometimes. "Wanna shoot couple bullets first?"

She nodded in agreement and quickly went to her bedroom to check on Crookshanks while Clint left Natasha a note. They headed to a shooting range right in the corner of the street; a detail that had been included in the localization of his apartment. That, along with a gym they'd certainly hit later in the morning. Hermione followed his lead with narrowed eyes, taking in everything she was seeing. A couple of shooters where aiming here and there, a few he recognized from habit and greeted with a nod. Clint picked up one of the most basic gun with bullets and both headed to the far end of the range, where they'd be unbothered. He didn't miss the way she slightly flinched at the sounds as he tested it a first time.

"Ever shot a gun before?" Hermione replied negative. "You're not afraid of weapons, right?"

"Not much, except when they're pointed at me." She replied.

"Smart girl. Okay, take this," He gave her the gun, showed her how to put the bullets and explained the basics. Hermione followed his instructions to the letter. "Now in position." He directed her into the right pose. "Keep your gun straight. Eyes going along the canon." Hermione raised the weapon. "Close an eye." She did. "Breathe slowly and whenever you feel ready, shoot."

The girl took exhaled a couple times before pressing the trigger. Her arms jerked slightly under the impact and she dropped a surprised 'ah', much to the few other shooters' amusement ( _those that had deemed the girl accompanying the guy who never missed worth watching anyway)_. Clint bit back his smile. She had missed the target entirely.

"Keep your arms straight and firm –don't move them as you pull –that's it. Try again."

She did. This time the bullet edged the corner of the target. It was very far from what he had hoped, but better than before. A few repositioning later, she had managed to center her shootings, but was still far from the bullseye.

"It's frustrating," she grumbled, annoyed after a full fifteen minutes of shooting and missing. She was progressing, slowly but surely, but her frustration was entertaining. Clint smirked and resisted the urge to ruffle her hair. He wasn't sure she'd want any kind of physical contact from him.

"You're a beginner, it'll come gradually." He reassured her. She gave him an even stare.

"I always succeed at what I do," she retorted hotly, and Clint had to bite back another smile. While they hadn't talked much so far, he had cheated a bit and checked her school records and everything pointed to a very smart girl. He didn't doubt a second she was used to being the best. That shooting didn't enter the frame of her skillsets fast must be annoying.

"What's your eyesight?" he asked eventually. Hermione gave him a suspicious glance.

"10/10 on both. Why?"

"I'm sure it's more. Not quite sure about your father, but I have a 20/10 on each." She stared at him skeptically. He chuckled. "Yeah I know, it's weird. While it helps to shoot a target, it still took time before I became as good as I am." He didn't mention that it was either practice to never miss, or he'd have to skip lunch. Succeeding in this had been more a matter of survival than actual fun. "There, see?" he said, took the gun and without really looking, shot six times. When he brought the target back, a smiley face grinned at them. Hermione's eyes were wide in awe.

"Bloody hell, that was-"

"Barney was good at it too, even our father was a pretty decent hunter back in the days. Runs in the family, so I'm not worried, you'll get there." He said encouragingly. "Keep trying, you'll get the hand of it eventually. I need to make a phone call."

Hermione nodded and returned to her target, a new determination in her eyes. Clint knew then that she'd do her best to perform, if only to prove to herself that she could do it. He walked into the lobby and dialed Natasha's phone. She picked up on the second ring.

" _So how's the shooting doing?"_ she asked without preamble.

"She's a beginner," he replied diplomatically. "You found the coffee?"

" _Yeah, thanks."_ He had no doubt she was brewing a cup right now. _"Any reason why you're calling?"_

"Yeah, I'm actually thinking of bringing Hermione to the gym and teach her the basics of self-defense. Her school is a heck lot more dangerous than I'd expect."

" _It's a magic school. I grilled Maria all about it on the way back from England."_

He winced slightly, taking a mental note to be nicer to his boss. No-one should have to face an inquisitive Natasha. The sudden thought that curiosity had overcome her sense of duty made him ask the following question:

"Is _that_ why you ditched your team and drove back all the way?"

He heard her snort.

" _That's not even worth mentioning. How's the uncle-niece bonding going?"_

Clint glanced towards the range and could see the same iron concentration on Hermione's face. It made him smile a bit.

"Fine, I guess. She's determined to hit the center, at least."

" _Good. You better hope she'll be in the same mood for sparring."_

Natasha hung up, leaving him wonder what she meant by that.

After trying for another half-hour, Clint nearly had to drag Hermione away from the range. The teenager still hadn't managed to hit the bullseye and had taken it as a personal offense. Her frustration was hilarious –although he wouldn't tell her that ( _he really didn't like being on the receiving end of a woman's wrath. Hermione was still a teen, but he had plenty experience with Bobbi and Natasha and sometimes Maria. As they say, better safe than sorry_ ).

"Why don't you try another weapon?" he suggested once they were back in the main corridor. Hermione raised her eyebrow questioningly.

"What do you mean? Like, if I tried a rifle?"

"Why not?" Clint replied, and after a quick nod to the manager of the shooting range, went on: "I'm not at my best with a gun. I won't miss a target, but I still prefer another kind of weapon." Hermione looked between intrigued and cautious. Since she hadn't looked fond of weapons at first place, he could only suspect she wasn't all too eager to know what he liked to manipulate. He waited a few moments to see whether she would or not ask, and when she didn't, added: "I am unbeatable with a bow."

That caught her attention.

"A bow?" she repeated. "You are an archer?"

"The best," he confirmed, not wanting to show off but still kinda boasting. "I'll show you later if you want."

The teen made a noncommittal grunt and followed him back to the apartment. There, they met with Natasha and after Hermione reluctantly changed into looser clothes, made their way to the gym. It was early enough not to be crowded yet, and the receptionist waved them into their usual spot. Once there, Natasha firmly closed the door and stared at Hermione. Clint and she had decided beforehand that she would supervise the physical aspect of his niece's approach to self-defense. He might have been a relative, but he was pretty sure she'd rather have a woman teaching it to her.

And in complete Natasha fashion, she didn't wait to give orders.

"Run around the room, make it five lapses."

Hermione blinked and stared at them alternatively.

"What? Why?" she asked, surprised.

"We're going to teach you how to fight, but if you don't want to get injured, you need to warm up a minimum. Since you're new to this, we might as well start with the basics. Hence, three lapses for starters."

Clint always had an odd feeling Natasha actually enjoyed scaring and ordering young troops around. But Hermione looked even less motivated at the task at hand.

"Listen, I know I agreed to learn how to fight, but it's not like I'll actually need it." She pointed out. "I have magic. And it's not like fists would work against a Basilick." She muttered the last part.

"What's a Basilick?" he asked immediately, not really wanting the answer, but she gave it anyway with.

"A giant snake. It can kill someone by looking at it and has poisonous fangs." She stopped there, but he felt like she was holding off something.

"Let me guess, there was one at school and 'Harry' took care of him?" Reluctant nod. "It could kill with one look and it was ramping around in Hogwarts?" Another reluctant nod. "Just fucking great. What do you have there too? Vampires? Werewolves?" Hermione winced slightly at the last one. Clint groaned and nearly facepalmed. Why was he letting the girl back to that school again? "Okay, finish me off. What are the other dangers you faced back there? And don't lie or I'll send Tasha on you, and _her_ specialty is interrogation."

Hermione quickly glanced at an impassive Natasha, no doubt wondering how true that sentence was. Clint dearly hoped she wouldn't have to find out. The teenager reluctantly admitted:

"One of our teachers was possessed by You-Know-Who in our first year. And he tried to kill Harry. I wasn't in the line of fire," she added quickly before he could express his indignation.

"What else?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on her feet. He gave her a stern glare and crossed his arms. Apparently, Natasha had done a little more than just interrogate Hill about the magical universe, as she piped in and asked casually:

"I heard you had a close encounter with the criminal escapee Sirius Black."

The teenager stared at her in disbelief and unease. Clint hadn't heard of the name –probably a small fish for SHIELD –but he did understand the tune in his lover's voice. The man was wanted, and not just for petty theft.

"Don't tell me; he's another criminal who was after Harry?"

Hermione seemed to hesitate, but after a hard glare towards Natasha, decided to give in:

"Yes, but not like that!" Before Clint could about kids and danger, she went on quickly: "He's Harry's godfather. And he's innocent. We know who the real culprit is but he escaped before we could turn him over to the government."

Clint exchanged an exasperated glance with his partner. She motioned they'd talk later, so refocused on his niece.

"Right. Anything else?"

Natasha's eyes hadn't shifted from Hermione yet.

"It seems that she doesn't believe I can't take her down as long as she has magic." Her voice was oddly cold and analyzing. Uh-hum, Clint thought with a grimace, he knew that tone. "Tell me Hermione, what happens when a wizard lose its wand? Can he still use magic?"

The teen's lips thinned into a line as she narrowed her eyes at Natasha. The redhead raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to answer.

"He could use wandless. But it's harder," She admitted.

"And most wizards can't."

Again, Hermione nodded.

"Would you consider your wand a weapon?"

Hermione opened her mouth to deny it, but then shut it. Clint didn't need to know much of magic to imagine what was going through her head. A wand could cast spells –any kind of spells, and she focused too much on the beautiful part of it. He had no doubt a wand could also cast something deadly, as the criminal after Hermione's friend had done.

"Your uncle and I can dodge a bullet if we concentrate hard enough." Natasha went on. Not if he or she were pulling the trigger against the other though, Clint added mentally, but nodded anyway to agree. "At close range, you can duck a knife, incapacitate an enemy pointing something unwanted at your head." She took a step closer. "You're not expected to become a black belt in the few weeks you're staying here. But you, and I'm sure Clint agrees, can learn to disarm a wizard. Let's do a little test," Natasha added, eyes bright like she just had an idea. "I dare you to cast me a spell; and I'll prove you there's always another way to disarm someone holding a wand without magic."

"I don't want to hurt you. And I'm not supposed to do magic in the presence of others," Hermione retorted, although Clint could tell the idea was slightly tempting. Not because she wanted to actually harm Natasha, but more to prove her point. She truly thought magic could overpower them. Clint winced inwardly. Although he still didn't like the idea of magic, maybe watching Natasha overcoming it would help him be less wary. Then he'd had something else to discuss with his niece.

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"This is our own room; the cameras are disabled and the manager knows better than to bother us when we're both here." They had also paid him enough to ameliorate his gym, especially after keeping on breaking most of his outdated stuff. "When I say everything that happens in this room will stay in this room, then everything stays in this room."

Clint had noticed that no matter where they went, Hermione always had that little stick on her. So it didn't surprise him when she reached for it from her back pocket, and knew the moment she touched it, that she was going to cast a spell.

'Experliarmus' she shouted, aiming at Natasha. A blue light emerged from the tip of the wand. The redhead ducked with easy and ran straight on her with the determination of a lion going for the kill. Within a blink, she caught her wrist, twisted it around as she smoothly slipped behind the teen's back and pressed her thumb underneath her neck. Hermione inhaled sharply, her eyes wide and shocked. The whole affair had lasted less than five seconds.

"No need for magic," Natasha whispered without moving from her spot. "Just speed and practice, and enough knowledge of the human body to know where to push at the right time. Your opponent will fall without understanding what had happened to him."

She released the teenager who now looked at her with a mixture of wonder, fear, and maybe respect. Natasha smirked slightly.

"If you still aren't convinced, we can try again."

Hermione put back her wand in her back pocket, more subdued and contemplative than before.

"You can teach me to do what you just did?"

"That, and more." Natasha said with a sharp nod. "But since you've disregarded my first orders, now you get to do _seven_ lapses."

Hermione groaned, but this time, didn't complain and started running.

A simple routine settled on the following days: as both Hermione and Clint were early risers –Natasha would not deign waking up before nine, they would eat their breakfast quietly and then go to the shooting range. They'd both fire for an hour before heading to the gym, being joined by Natasha and working out for another two.

Hermione progressed slowly but surely. She had obstinately refused to shoot with anything else than the practice gun he had first given her and had yet convinced her to even touch a rifle _(he'd reluctantly submitted to the idea he wouldn't be showing off his bow anytime soon, not as long as his stubborn niece had gained a minimum grip on her own weapon)._ Within three days, her aim had improved enough that she'd hit the inner circle one time out of four. Clint was genuinely happy for her, and a small part of him was actually relieved she had managed to progress, especially since he feared that her glaring too much at a cardboard target would actually set said target on fire _(magic and wizards after all)_.

The sessions with Natasha were doing great too. His partner had showed her in slow motion the trick to disarm a man holding a gun ( _or a wand)_ and, after using him many times as a practice dummy, he could feel her absorbing the method and adapting it to her size and strength. She was encouraged to do more reinforcements like stretches and pushups and even yoga to clear her mind.

For some reason, Clint heard that Hermione had found a new determination for training, something he'd understand later as 'muggle pride'. Apparently, racism in wizard society didn't concern the color of the skin, but the ancientness of the families and blood. In short transition, aristocracy. And those guys didn't like that the new generation was coming more and more from the muggles.

"They keep talking about blood superiority," she said one time, when he had actually gathered some guts and asked about her school. "And yet I succeed more in my studies than most pureblood do."

"Sounds a lot like private schools and rich kids," Clint replied, frowning. "Any of them tried to actually hurt you?"

He had meant physically, but she had shaken her head.

"Insults mostly, nothing I can't handle." She paused and smirked. "But I did punch Malfoy in the face once."

Given the way she had described the Malfoy kid before, Clint could do nothing but beam at her proudly.

Afternoons were more relaxed, more focused on visiting the area and talking about anything and nothing. Although he still wasn't quite at ease with physical demonstration, Clint was warming up to talking about magic, as long as it was all theory. He enjoyed that Hermione would lighten up when asked about it and would smile at the endless chatterbox she'd become once launched on the subject. He wasn't spared many details; from her school to how she perceived the wizard society, and of course, her friends, Ron and Harry.

She had other friends in her House ( _the whole concept of four houses division felt a bid odd and contradictory since that school was supposed to encourage unity. But who was he to contest archaic rules of a universe he knew next to nothing about?_ ) but when she mentioned them, they sounded more like housemates. Whereas those two guys…he had a feeling he'd have to have a serious talk with each of them. Ronald Weasley for actually failing to be a friend _(as he understood, writing, although much slower in the wizard world, was free as long as you had an owl)_ and Harry Potter to get a good grip on his character _(because he knew Hermione was thirteen-going-on-fourteen and she was going to start notice boys sooner or later, and no matter how hard she denied or realized it, 'Harry' was definitively in her eyesight_ ).

He, in turn, forced himself to recall a few positive memories of Barney and told them to her. Thankfully, Hermione quickly felt he wasn't at ease at the mention of his older brother, and most of the time, didn't engage the subject unless directly encouraged. In return, he left the case of Sirius Black slide for the moment. He wanted to return to work and grill Maria more on the subject before actually facing Hermione anyway. The tone she had used back then had been definite and Clint thought that man's argument must have been really convincing to have a sharp mind like his niece believe him.

And when Monday morning came, the routine broke.

Hermione's summer classes would take her all morning and she'd only be back in the midafternoon, but she had now her own subscription card for the shooting range and access to their private room at the gym. Their presence at the apartment depended on their schedule, and this week was back to rookie training ( _they weren't quite off the hook for their last stunt yet_ ) so their working time would be normal and Hermione could still train with whichever came home early.

Still, Clint was all nerves and fidgeting when she departed that morning to head to Morgan International High School for Witches and Wizards.

"You are worse than a mother hen," Natasha grumbled. Clint sighed and rubbed his face. He hated that he could not enter the building and meet the teachers himself. Hermione had assured him a thousand times she could go on her own, especially since he needed to head to work later in the morning and yes, she'd have her cell phone at hand's length if needed and his and Natasha's number on speed-dial.

"I know, it's overrated. But she's my responsibility Tasha." He glanced at her sideways. "What if something happens to her there? Related to magic, I mean. I can't help her."

The redhead pushed his arms away, pushed him back into the couch and straddled his thighs. She cupped his face in her hands and brought their noses close enough to be touching.

"You will do great, Clint. But not if you overreact like that." She gave him a gentle kiss. "Hermione's a big girl and she seems tough. And, most importantly, she understood what you're trying to do by training her to fight without magic." He gave her a look. "Fine, _I'm_ training her." Her fingers caressed the hair at the base of his skull. "She's surrounded by magic users, she's in her element right now. She'll do just _fine_."

Clint closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her closer. Natasha gently pulled his head in the crock of her neck and rubbed his back until she felt him relax slightly.

"You're probably right." He muttered in her shirt. Natasha pulled back and raised an eyebrow.

"Probably?" she repeated. That made him smile.

"You're _always_ right." He amended and was rewarded by another kiss, longer and deeper. When they parted, Natasha was smirking.

"I kinda missed you lately."

"We see each other every day." He pointed out, but knew what she meant. He had tried so hard to build some kind of connection with Hermione, he felt he had been neglecting his partner. Which he totally _had_ beendoing. Natasha leaned forwards and this time, kissed him till he was out of breath.

"Stop being an idiot," she growled, but the glint in her eyes told him she wasn't actually angry, and stepped away from his lap. "And come make it up to me."

He laughed and promptly followed her to their bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the Avengers.**

 **Hermione pov**

The Summer School classes were to be taught in a tall building in the middle of New York. Thankfully, Miss Hill had given her very precise instructions as to how to reach it. From the outside, it didn't look spectacular; one mundane building among others. Hermione glanced right, then left. On one side of the school there was a bakery, and on the other side, a plumber's office. Passersby strolled in front of the main entrance without even noticing it. Not unlike the Leaky Cauldron, come to think of it _._ Still, she held back the urge to roll her eyes; wizards in America were so. . . weird, to exhibit their properties in the middle of muggle business. At least the Leaky Cauldron was uninviting from the outside–and a bit on the inside.

The front door opened and a woman pulled a small child out behind her and onto the street. She looked perfectly normal, dressed in a pure muggle fashion. The child wore a bright orange and white miniature uniform. It was very school-like, with a badge pinned on the front of his shirt. The logo on the badge was similar to the one on the papers Miss Hill had her sign the other day. This was the right place, she decided.

The inside wasn't much grander either. The walls and decoration were quite simple; no huge portraits or fancy decoration like Hogwarts. The style was far too…modern. Unstylish. Bland. Hermione sighed and continued on. She didn't think these people had any taste. Or maybe Hogwarts' splendors had blinded her too much.

A receptionist sat behind a high desk. Said receptionist, a middle-aged man, was waving a wand at a bunch of papers, making them twirl into a colorful, harmless, mini hurricane. She waited for him to take notice of her. A name tag pinned on his chest indicated the name 'Usher'.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Hermione Granger; I'm here for a late integration into summer classes," She said eventually when he didn't move.

'Usher' raised an eyebrow, mumbled something and stared at the paper hurricane. One piece detached from the others and slid neatly into his waiting hand.

"Hermione Granger, newbie?" Hermione nodded when she realized he was asking for confirmation. "Yeah, that's your face," He added and pointed a corridor behind him. "Third floor, room twelve. Your supervisor's name is Hakker."

Pause.

Blink.

"You British?" At her positive answer, he added: "For reminder floor one is ground level here. So you need to go to the second. Good day,"

As Usher didn't seem open for further discussion, Hermione went her way and followed his direction. One would think living in a castle that's stairs switched position all the time would give her some sense of orientation, but some details made her definitively rethink the ordinariness of the building. She had climbed one set of stairs before realizing no number had been written on the walls; or rather, the numbers flickered from 1 to 9 every three seconds. The walls themselves changed color occasionally – and very subtly – barely a shift from clear white to light gray and then beige and pale pink - all this in the time it took her to climb twenty steps.

She reached the third floor quickly, climbing while keeping her eyes on the ground _(staring at the walls gave her a headache)_ and entered a large yellowish corridor with a lot of metallic-like doors.

"Watch out, _imbecile_!" someone shouted. One of the doors was slightly ajar and a teenage boy barged out of a room laughing, quickly followed by another his age. They both disappeared down the corridor, wands out and casting random spells at each other. A girl stepped out, crossed her arms and leaned back against the threshold with a resigned look on her face. She caught sight of Hermione and headed towards her.

"You're supposed to find room twelve?" she asked straight ahead. Hermione nodded. "You must be the new girl," she added. She had golden eyes that resembled a cat's, especially the pupil _._ Her light brown hair was tied in a complicated braid at the back of her head. She was dressed like a muggle, with a short-sleeved pale brown tunic, black leggings and combat boots. "I'm Gemma. Gemma Morgen. I'll be the one showing you around."

Hermione opened her mouth to introduce herself properly when a loud "Fuck!" echoed in the corridor. Both girls turned around and Gemma hurried to the origin of the sound. Hermione followed to indulge her curiosity – and because she didn't want to stand alone.

The two teenagers that had been running around were the origin of the commotion. The first one, a black boy with brown hair and probably younger than her, had his wand out and pointed at the second one. The second boy was spread on the floor, grimacing. They too, were wearing muggle clothes; a light yellow sweater and brown pants for the first boy, blue jeans and sleeveless dark red shirt for the second.

"Gretel!" the black boy called out cheerfully. "See that? See that! I _caught_ him!" His 'victim', the boy on the ground, was a slightly older boy with wavy blond hair and raging green eyes.

"Fuck off, Paint!" he shouted, struggling to get up, but not managing, as if an invisible weight was pressing on his back. "You made your point. Now cancel the goddamn spell!"

'Paint' glanced sheepishly at Gemma.

"Please?" he asked on a sweet innocent tone. The girl sighed heavily, pulled out her wand and waved it. The 'invisible weight' vanished and the one lying down sighed in relief. Hermione blinked in surprise; she had just cast a wordless spell.

"Thanks, Gretel," He said, standing up and brushing away invisible dust.

"They call me Gretel because I'm from Germany. Nicknames run around, so better learn them as well as the first names," Gemma informed her before introducing her to the black teen. "Joker number one is Matisse LaTour."

"Call me 'Paint', _cher_ ," he said with an elegant bow. He had a loud accent that didn't come from speaking French.

"And joker number two is Harry Gellick."

"Nickname's Fish because he loves sushi," Matisse/Paint whispered which caused Harry/Fish to glare at him. Hermione couldn't help but smile a little.

"I have a friend whose name is Harry," she put in. "My name's Hermione Granger."

"Oooh, I know that accent," Matisse/Paint interrupted with a wide grin. "You're from Great Britain, right?" She nodded. "Perfect, I got your nickname." He breathed in deeply, took the welcoming pose of a showman and extended both arms at her: "You will be. . .Brita!"

"Brita?" Harry/Fish repeated with a frown.

"Short for Britannia. That's the lady name of your country, right?"

"Eh. . .sure. She has been the representation of the British Isles for centuries." Hermione started, but quickly quieted when Paint was distracted by a spot on his wand.

"So Brita it is," Fish concluded with a grin _(Hermione would keep the 'Fish' nickname in mind. While he looked nothing like her Harry, the common name might be confusing in the long run)._ "Welcome to the team Melting Pot."

Gemma rolled her eyes.

"That's the nickname of our class," she explained dryly. "We come from all over the world and mix up in one spot. It's an analogy to an existing phenomenon, and the kids' nickname to convey unity against the locals."

Hermione nodded in understanding. Both Paint and Fish glared at their elder; little doubt they had been the ones behind the name. Then Fish subtly tried to cast a spell on Paint and off they went running again. Gemma exchanged an exasperated eye roll with her.

"Yeah, welcome to the circus."

Hermione smiled. She already liked it.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I've integrated a summer class in America and you have no idea how much fun I am having right now. We are a small group of ten students and one teacher, who_ _supervises everyone. We revise spells and potions and a little bit of herbology. I've arrived too late to integrate into other classes like runes or astronomy, but this is good enough._

 _Everyone calls each other by nicknames here, even the teacher Jonathan Hakker is 'Don Juan'. Mine is Brita, from England – see the link. No one will call me Hermione and I gave up trying after the tenth time. I made a few friends here, too. First is Gretel (real name Gemma). She moved from Germany with her parents two months ago and is the oldest one here –she turned fifteen last June. Actually, most of the students aren't from the United States and have migrated in the area recently. Then there are Fish and Paint (real name respectively Harry and Matisse). Fish is from Australia. Paint is the only one who lived in the US his whole life, he comes from Louisiana. They are both twelve and won't stop bickering and casting spells at each other. I had the cancelling spell mastered by the end of the fourth day._

 _These classes are mostly an opportunity to adjust to the American school system. It's fun to be taught from a different perspective, especially since they value practice a lot more than theory. Don Juan is barely older than us, so he is a lot more approachable._

 _You would love it here. The city is huge and building and skyscrapers go so high up! I didn't get to see the magical side of the city, although Gretel thinks it would be wiser for me to already get used to the muggle side before slipping into unfamiliar territory. It's true that I am quite busy already. I haven't told you much about Clint, my uncle, yet. He seems to be a good guy, although it's not easy every day. He's teaching me how to use a gun. A gun! Do you believe it? And maybe later, when we both have more time, he'll show me how to shoot a bow._

 _Crookshanks is also fine. He's adapted to the apartment better than I thought, even if he hates wearing a collar. Clint's girlfriend is teaching me self-defense. I will definitively show you when I return to Hogwarts; there are some things that would have definitively been useful against Malfoy last year._

 _Until then,_

 _Hermione_

She put down the pen and folded the letter. American correspondence didn't use the usual British means. Actually, most magical pets there were dogs, cats or rodents, including dormouse or raccoons or even rats. There were never – or very rarely – any birds. Hedwig would have looked even more out of place than usual, while Crookshanks had easily made a few friends at her school. She remembered Paint's look of envy when she had told him he was half-kneazle. The boy had nearly kidnapped the cat at the end of their class.

Right now, a huge brown cat was staring at her unblinkingly, waiting for her to send her letter. The cat –Candy –was Gretel's, and she had allowed Hermione to borrow it for a few days. Crookshanks could be trained to deliver letters in the States, but he needed to be introduced to the job by a fellow magical creature. Said half-kneazle was staring pointedly at Candy with the same unblinking eyes, although Candy pointedly ignored him. Sometimes, he'd meow to try to catch the female's attention, but to no avail. Hermione smiled slightly as he failed again.

"There. . ." Hermione said, handing her folded letter to the cat. "Can you show this handsome redhead there the trick please?"

Candy sniffed disdainfully and stretched elegantly before taking the letter in her mouth. Hermione also learned that, amazingly enough, magical creature's drooling wouldn't affect the object they were carrying. As the female padded over her desk and hopped towards the window, Crookshanks hurriedly scrambled after her. Before he could disappear, Hermione couldn't help but shout after him. "Be nice to Candy, Crook! Sometimes ladies don't like too much attention,"

Crook meowed pitifully at her and jumped out of her view, following his temporary mentor. Hermione watched the window a few moments more until a knock distracted her.

"Hermione?" Clint's voice. "Can I come in?"

She glanced around in her room: nothing compromising was exposed aside from a couple of books on the floor. She gathered them, hurriedly dumped them in a corner and allowed entrance.

Clint and she might have gotten off rocky basis, but she found that they were getting used to each other. It became easier to talk to him as he slowly accepted the idea of magic and relaxed around her. Their time at the shooting range and the gym also gave her an unexpected means of bonding with him and his girlfriend. Natasha was nice enough and as Hermione had mentioned in her letter to Harry, a good teacher. Her lessons would leave her soaking in sweat, but they were efficient and now she could probably take down a man Clint's size. A man without the training of her uncle, that is. When stumbling upon the guns, Hermione has assumed they had heavy training for whatever they were doing. _(For some reason, she couldn't see Clint working as the kind of guard in supermarkets. She knew he had been in the military, but something told her all this training was meant to be use for much more dangerous ends)._

Her uncle pushed the door open. He wasn't alone. Maria Hill was there as well, stern-looking and impassive, contrary to her usual reserved friendliness. It didn't stop her from getting straight to her point.

"We need to talk about some things you said regarding a man named Sirius Black."

Hermione felt her heartbeat accelerate and glared at her uncle. They had that unspoken agreement that some subjects were not to be touched, and Sirius was one of them. He obviously had spoken about it to his. . . boss? Friend? She still wasn't sure.

Miss Hill ignored her look and continued speaking. "Your uncle says you are a very level-head, and smart witch," The compliment did not sooth her irritation. Not in the slightest. "If you may, I will ask a few questions regarding the fugitive. You have been far enough from England to be broken of any kind of spell that may be cast upon you."

Hermione felt her blood rise in indignation. "Sirius didn't-"

"Listen Hermione," Clint interrupted, much to her annoyance. "I did a bit of research, and I found Black's file. They wrote down the accusations that were put on him, the date he was imprisoned, but there never was the mention of a trial. The sentence runs back twelve years ago, he should have been able to call for one since the political tension had calmed down. He is now considered to be a fugitive. I'm not saying I agree with your statements nor am I disagreeing, but keep in mind that if he wants to be cleared of all charges, he needs to through a trial no matter what."

" _They_ will never let him have a trial," Hermione spat bitterly.

"That's why we are asking you to tell him to surrender to _us_ ," Maria replied, as calmly as before. The teen noted that the woman hadn't asked for precision on the 'they'. "Bring him to the US, let him ask for immunity within American territory. If he convinces the right people, he could bring the Magical British Government to court for slander and more."

The young witch narrowed her eyes at the woman.

"You mean, if he convinces _you_."

"Unlike Britain, we openly work with Veritaserum and Pensives during a trial. Not to say they are infallible means," Hill added with disdain. "But it could help Black's case."

Hermione remained quiet a few moments. She didn't understand why they considered helping Sirius. They were supposed to work in the security business. . . Or maybe they actually were involved in some kind of secret organization. She nearly dismissed the thought on the spot. There was a world between security and agency. If her uncle belonged to a fancy organization, he would have told her, right?

"What's in for you?" Hermione asked eventually. "He's not even in the front page of any US magazine." And she had checked.

"Honor and debts in the wizarding world have huge weight. Our allies in Britain are a faint minority and most of the time unreliable. Black is old blood, **and** a fairly independent man in the political sphere," Hill replied honestly. "Black gets his freedom, we free an innocent and keep relationships open. It's a win-win for everyone."

Hermione frowned. She didn't like this. She didn't like that they would use Sirius as a source of information.

As if sensing her reluctance, Clint intervened quickly. "It's a good deal for him. Maria has contacts and if she says she can do something, then she will," Surprise crossed the woman's face, but it was very brief. Hermione wondered whether it came from his 'belief' in his superior, or his attempt to convincing her. "But that will be entirely up to him and you. Remember, we have no ways of knowing if you decide to tell him. If he's innocent as you claim, I'm ready to give him the benefit of the doubt," He added gently. "We're not trying to pressure you, just give you options."

"I'll see what I can do," She said eventually and firmly, mentioning she wouldn't push on the matter. Both adults nodded and walked out of her bedroom, leaving Hermione to her thoughts.

On August the thirtieth, Hermione had her suitcases packed and folded.

"You take care," Clint rambled, looking far too nervous and guilty. "And call as soon as you arrive. I'll keep my phone on in case of trouble. I'll probably be out on stakeout with Tasha, but I'll return as soon as I can."

"Phones don't work in. . . " she trailed off and chose a different kind of approach. "At my school. But I'll call when I'm at the airport."

Her uncle wouldn't be there to drive her off at school. He had been called on an assignment the previous evening for tomorrow afternoon, and he wouldn't tell her where he was sent. Natasha was assigned to be his partner _(they were the best, they claimed, and after watching them exchange fists quite a few times in the gym, Hermione could easily believe them)_ so Natasha couldn't come with her either.

Surprisingly, Hermione realized she would miss them. Even though they weren't as tight as a real family, she had become used to their presence in the past few weeks.

Both Clint and Natasha gave her an awkward, although genuine, goodbye hug before she left for the boarding gates. Hermione was given a special pass for Crookshanks so he wouldn't have to go through quarantine once in London and once arrived, no one put up a fuss. Clint had booked her a room in a fancy hotel near the center of London and close to the Leaky Cauldron. She spent the day before boarding strolling down Diagon Alley, purchasing this years books and merely staring at other artifacts she once might have bought on a whim. But her parents weren't there to support her financially anymore, and she didn't want to become a large source of expense for her uncle either.

She took the taxi to the train station and made her way to the platform 9 3/4. It was odd, not being surrounded by her parents, and her loss was heavy in the air. She hadn't tried to contact Harry or Ron upon her return, as neither had returned a letter since she had departed. Although she wanted to assume the mail had gone lost somewhere, she was still annoyed at the lack of communication between them. But, they would see each other soon enough.

The station was still full and buzzing with activity. Hermione stepped through the ticket barrier and found herself on the platform, staring at the shiny black and red locomotive. A small smile made its way on her face.

"Hello there," she whispered to herself, and suddenly felt slightly better. She had lost a home two months ago _(was it only two months ago? She felt it was ages already)_ and gained an uncertain one, but now she was returning to her second true home.

Unnatural movement caught her eye on her right. A messy, dark-haired teenager _(Harry! She thought as her heart skipped a beat)_ was waving at her from afar, a big grin plastered on his face. Hermione immediately pushed her cart in the direction of her friend to greet him warmly. But then Harry stepped aside and another boy she used to consider her friend appeared in sight.

"H-Hermione?" Ron babbled as he spotted her. Every inch of good mood evaporated at his view. Hermione was glad Natasha hadn't shown her how to thigh-choke someone yet, or Ron would have been biting the floor.

"Ron," she greeted icily. She used the ' _talk-to-me-you-and-die'_ glare the badass woman had taught her. "How nice to see you. I hope you had lovely holidays. I can't wait to hear them, since you didn't even deign send me one _fucking_ single letter all summer you _fucking asshole_!"

Her voice rose with the last words. Even though she kept a cool façade, she was burning with anger inside. Harry glared at Ron in turn.

"You told me you wrote back!" he barked accusingly, his whole body tensing at the now uncomfortable redhead.

"I- I. . . my mom told me not to!"

"Your-what?"

Ron stared at his feet.

"We were already a big family. We can hardly make things work. When you wrote about a magical guardianship, Mom thought you wanted us to 'adopt' you. And then you said you were leaving for America, so I thought it didn't matter anymore."

Hermione felt her blood rise in anger but forced to calm down. _Deep breath_ , she ordered herself. The hours she spent at yoga were proving themselves useful after all.

"Hermione?" Ron asked tentatively.

She glared at him.

"Don't talk to me. Don't come within five feet of me. Don't even think about asking for help with homework. I lost both parents and I really needed my friends support. You turned on me. Don't think I'll ever forget that." She turned her back on him and boarded the train, looking for a deserted compartment.

The training that Natasha and Clint had put her through had strengthened her muscles and as she handled her suitcases, she didn't find them as heavy as before. She would definitely keep up the light training back at the castle; who knew when it would come in handy. Then she remembered Malfoy's face when she had punched him. Would he have a concussion if she hit him again, with the added strength she had gathered the past few weeks? The thought made her smile faintly as she glanced at the platform.

Parents and students were mingling about. The students were readying for a new year or getting ready to enter Hogwarts for the first time. She closed her eyes and remembered painfully the first time she had come here. Her father had to work early that day, so he had said goodbye from the house. Her mother had accompanied her inside the station and had stared at her surroundings with wide, curious eyes. Hermione remembered how excited and eager she had been. She had barely said 'bye' and then she'd rushed forwards into a new world. She briefly wondered how her parents had felt then, if they had been as nervous as Clint to let her go or glad to send her away.

Magic wasn't a taboo at home, but she remembered that only her mother had been interested in her classes. Her father had only been more talkative during their holidays, when wands were cast aside and muggle discoveries were at the forefront. Clint had been reluctant to speak about magic, more out of fear of the unknown than disgusted. But in the end, she had felt him coming around. Just as she had been making efforts to understand his world, he had made some to understand hers.

That was something her father hadn't done, she suddenly realized. Just as pureblood wizards snubbed muggleborns, her father had avoided every aspect of her magical life. She even remembered him pulling a face when she had mentioned working for the Ministry of Magic. He had asked whether she would still work in the normal world and when she had gone on with her idea of the future, he had never brought up the subject again.

The train started to roll and still no one entered her cabin. Hermione sighed and stared out the window at the landscape outside. She wondered how she was going to manage this year. She usually wrote to her parents every couple weeks, but it wouldn't feel the same with Clint. She had also promised to keep a regular correspondence with the Melting Pots which would be a nice distraction. Somewhat. She couldn't wait to be at Hogwarts and back in her dorms with the girls…

The door of her compartment slid open and a familiar black-haired teen peeked inside.

"Is the seat taken?" he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded towards the empty bench.

"All yours," she replied. Harry smiled, closed the door and sat there. He didn't waste time and immediately asked:

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," She replied, then admitted. "No. Not really. I thought you'd be staying with Ron?"

"I saw him nearly all summer, he won't miss me. And I'm angry at him right now," Harry replied with a shrug and leaned forwards. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more,"

Hermione smiled tightly."You did what you could, and I appreciate that. I hope the Dursley weren't too hard on you."

"It's fine. They left me alone since I told them about Sirius," He paused and smiled slightly. "I didn't get any letters from you after you left England, by the way."

"I did write you," Hermione inputted. She shouldn't feel the need to protest, but she did. Harry merely smiled, albeit bitterly.

"And I assume you didn't get any of my letters either."

Hermione sighed harshly and glared out of the window, cursing Molly Weasley and her weak-minded son under her breath. She wasn't angry at Harry though. She knew that had it been up to him, he would have done a lot more than sending a couple letters.

"Well, it's over now," she replied with a lightness she didn't really feel. "So why don't you tell me about your summer?"

Harry smiled back and she felt her heart flutter. She had missed him a lot more that she'd expected.

"Only if you tell me about the US first," he replied cheekily. Hermione smiled genuinely this time and proceeded to tell him everything.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Avengers.**

It hadn't taken long for Hermione to fold back into her old habits. Returning to Hogwarts had been refreshing after a near-month in unfamiliar territory. Word about her parents' death had run around the castle and throughout the first week, she was constantly offered condolences from friends and people she had never met before. Fortunately, Lavender and Pavati would keep guard around her when she was in the Common room, and Harry would glare at the ones whispering on her path. Nearly each teacher had offered their help, should she need anything, and even Snape had merely ignored her instead of making rude comments in class. It hadn't taken over a week before the clamor died down and things were truly back to normal. Or almost back to normal.

Her friendship with Ron had taken a drastic turn. She would still speak civilly to him, but otherwise ignore him or reject his attempts at talking about anything else but classes. Harry, while still hanging out with the redhead, had also put some distance between the two and spent most of his time with Hermione. The rest of the Weasley clan was promptly ignored, as Ginny seemed to have heard about the unreturned letters and hadn't tried to make contact either. Fred and Georges had apparently other stuff in mind at the time and not realized anything about the situation. Not that they would have likely cared at first place.

The only time they tried to prank her to 'cheer her up' _(changing her books into comics and having a squeaking feather whenever the tip touched the paper was NOT appreciated_ ), she cast a few jinks of her own ( _courtesy of having *cough* Paint and Fish *cough* perpetually trying to hex each other and being caught in the middle_ ) and turned their skin bright red and blue and made it so that they'd shine in the dark like a neon in a discothèque. They took the hint and left her alone afterwards.

So, Hermione was quietly enjoying the return to normal when the mail arrived and a large owl dropped unceremoniously two letters in her bowl. At first, Hermione wondered who had written to her before remembering Clint's hasty promise about keeping in touch. A soft smile grew over her face as she opened the first envelope.

 _September 7_ _th_ _,_

 _Hey, Hermione,_

 _I hope your first week at school went well. Sorry I didn't write earlier, I thought you might need time to return to your habits. I also had to ask Maria about the whole mail-pet thing. She subscribed me to a sort of storage where I can get my mail in case I don't want the letter delivered straight to me, y'know, when I'm busy. (How do they find me anyway? Do they have some inner radar? Do they cast spells on them to do their job?). Why can't wizards use emails or cell phone like normal people? Animals are totally not practical. Don't think I've forgotten the present that raccoon dropped in living-room._

Hermione winced slightly. Fish's raccoon had indeed dropped a little extra something along with a letter, the day before her departure to Great Britain. She returned to the reading.

 _The apartment feels a bit empty now that you're gone. I'll be off for my next job soon, so I won't be able to reply right away. I can't say where I'm being sent, but I'll bring you back a souvenir._

 _Feel free to write back about anything. I think it'll be a good distraction for you and me. And maybe it'll help things along, next time you come over._

 _Nat says 'hi'._

 _Take care._

 _Clint._

Her smile widened at the last words. Was this how Harry felt when he got to write to Sirius? She promised herself to write back soon and hurriedly opened the next letter.

 _ **Brita, cher!**_

Hermione nearly rolled her eyes. Who else but Paint? She felt slightly guilty at not having thought much of them yet.

 _ **You promised you'd write when you'd return to England! And we're still waiting! Or are we poor US folks not good enough for you anymore? :( Gretel wants to know how it went with the stupid redhead. You knocked some sense into him? Oh, and you owe Fish 20 bucks, Don Juan got back with his ex two days ago! We're all headed to the same school and see each other at break. Teachers are okay here.**_

Hermione read an extensive description of Paint's point of view of said teachers and couldn't help but snort at some lines. In spite of their two years gap, Paint and Fish had officially replaced the Weasley twins back in summer classes. A quick note from Gretel insisted they were making life hell; but knowing the girl, Hermione had no doubt she was enjoying the troublemakers' pranks.

 _ **We'll be waiting to hear from you!**_

 _ **Matisse, aka Paint, and the others Melting Pot gofers.**_

"You got good news Mione?" Harry asked when he spotted her grin.

"You could say that," she replied, suddenly eager to finish her breakfast. Even though she didn't know her uncle or her American friends well, the teenager figured this correspondence could bring them a bit closer. So she promised herself to write back whenever she could.

Clint was cleaning his favorite gun when he heard the light tap against the glass. His hand wrapped around the handle and glanced towards the origin of the noise. A large brown cat stood on the edge of his window, staring impatiently at him, two letters in its mouth. He hurried to open it and the feline dropped one envelope before sneaking away. The man grinned when he recognized the handwriting and opened the letter to read.

September 10th

 _Hello Clint,_

 _School is going well so far. Returning there was like breathing fresh air; it's nice to return to a familiar environment after. . . you know._

 _This year will be very particular, since Hogwarts will welcome the Triwizard Tournament. It's a sort of competition between schools, so they will invite foreign students from France and Bulgaria to come over. I can't wait until that happens!_

 _We also have a new teacher, a real former Auror (equivalent of police). He showed us the Three Unspeakables in class. Remember them? Torture, mind control and death. I think Harry was a little bit upset when he saw the last one (it killed his parents after all), but I'm sure the other classes will be very interesting._

 _Do you remember my friend Ron? The one who didn't give news this summer? When I told him about my parents' death, at first I wanted to ask him about magical guardians. His mother forbade him to write back, because she feared I'd ask them to foster me. And since I told him I would be moving out of the country, he thought I was changing schools as well! I can't believe how stupid he was! And Harry –the trouble magnet –got in a fight with him too. But he will forgive him eventually. I don't think it'll be so easy for me to do the same, but I keep thinking, what if anything happens to Ron? Won't I feel guilty not reconciling with him? He might be a git, but he was a good friend my first year and I don't want to lose anyone else. . . What would you do?_

 _I guess animals are the traditional way for wizards to communicate. In England, we favor owls a lot. There is one thing I learned about wizards from my time here, is that they are very attached to traditions. I can try to find a more practical means to communicate, but I'm not sure what would do._

 _Good luck for your job! And say hello to Natasha for me._

 _Hermione._

 _PS: can you please try to write correctly? I had a hard time reading your letter._

Natasha stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy towel, fresh out of the shower. She raised an eyebrow seeing how overexcited her partner seem to be.

"Someone's in good mood," she remarked. Clint grinned at her, waving the letter like a five year old holding his present on Christmas.

"Hermione wrote back." He said cheerfully. Natasha rolled her eyes and petted his hair affectionately.

 _ **September 10**_ _ **th**_

 _ **Dear Melting Pots**_

 _ **Sorry guys, things had been a bit tense over here.**_

 _ **I've stopped talking to Ron and ignored the Weasley family altogether. The twins tried to play a few pranks on me, but I cursed them with that flashy spell you used all the time on me, and since then, they've left me alone. I've made closer friends with the Gryffindor girls now, but Harry is still my best. (Sorry Fish, English Harry will always be my favorite).**_

 _ **I don't have American money anymore, but here is the equivalent in pounds :) Still, I will bet another ten they'll break up within a month again. Teachers are the same here –except for an ex-Auror coming to teach us DADA. He's got experience, but Don is way sexier!**_

 _ **We're organizing the Triwizard Tournament this year. Too bad America is too far away for competing!**_

 _ **Hope to hear from you soon!**_

 _ **Hermione**_

September 20th

 _Hermione,_

 _Sorry bout the lateness of the reply, I just got the opportunity to write back yesterday._

 _First of all, Happy Belated Birthday! The big package is your present, the smaller one the souvenir I brought back. I truly have no clue what to buy to someone your age, but I hope this will suit you. (I confess, Nat helped me out)._

 _I asked Maria about the Triwizard Tournament. You better not think of enrolling, because she told me people got bad injuries or were killed and I really don't want that to happen to you! You better swear you're not participating! Or I will show up at school and pull you out of it. I don't care if you survived a troll your first year, a giant snake your second and a werewolf last summer._

 _Glad to hear you're having interesting classes. Are these people really allowed to teach? Won't it be dangerous for you?_

 _About the souvenir, it's supposed to be a lucky charm bracelet that you tie at your ankle or some stuff like that, or so Maria says (since I'm getting curious about magic she keeps telling me stuff but I don't know what is real and what is BS. I didn't realize she was that kind of bully). Dunno if it'll work and I hope it won't get lost. Nat thinks it's ugly, and I kinda agree with her (the blue eye thing freaks me out a bit), but if it works. . ._

 _About your friend, I'm crap at relationships, but if he acted like an idiot and followed his mom's instructions and is really guilty about it, maybe he isn't hopeless. Just remember he might not be as reliable as you thought he was. Some people are like that (I know a lot about it), but you are still kids and kids make bad decisions all the time._

 _Take care._

 _Clint._

 _Ps: was the writing clearer to you? ;)_

"So, that's your uncle writing to you?" Lavender asked, curiosity dripping from her voice.

"Yup." She replied cheerfully. Once again, two letters had arrived simultaneously one morning, making Hermione grin like an idiot. They might have been a few days late, but the wait was worth it.

"And your American friends, too?"

"Yup."

 _ **September 19**_ _ **th**_

 _ **Hey Brita!**_

 _ **The boys and Don Juan were very happy to hear from you. As for the Triwizard Tournament, it's a European event. In the states we have the 'Amazing Wizard Race'. It's a five stage race where we compete either in solo or in teams depending on your age, but the rules are about the same as the T.T. Did you try to register? Fish says you better win if you do. And Paint says if you lose, lose with style.**_

 _ **We gave the letter to Don, but he didn't tell when it'd be sent, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY! It's a common present from everyone, Don actually chose it (even if he'll deny it). It's called a Tumpress and it's the top fashion here.**_

 _ **You know that bet that Fish did, that Don and his girlfriend wouldn't hold on over two weeks? He won. They broke up yesterday. Lick –another guy who recently joined the jokers in their pranks, earned, believe it or not, a hundred from Fish and Paint. Now you bet a ten, and we joined your earning with the envelope. There's a new guy in town your wand would have loved to meet. His name is Derrick Davis –we call him Big D, for Big Douchbag. Wish you were here for diversion. He's been trying to hit on me since day one. I've got other friends now, but none have that murderous glint you have when you're pissed. You really need to teach me that look next time we meet.**_

 _ **In the meantime, have a good day!**_

 _ **Gretel and The Melting Pot'**_

"So, is that muggle money or wizard money?" Pavati asked, eyeing the green bills with curiosity.

"Both, actually," Hermione replied, counting with glee the fifty she'd earn.

"You should ask for a picture," Lavender said. "I wouldn't mind seeing what they look like."

Hermione nodded absentmindedly and picked up the small packages that had been sent. Clint's present made her smile slightly, and as for her American friends. . . Pavati, Lavender and Harry exchanged puzzled glances when they saw what it contained.

"So, what did she say?" Natasha asked the moment he opened the letter. Since Hermione had mentioned the wizard competition, Clint had been unnerved and annoying. And that was slowly getting on her nerves. The archer's shoulders sagged in relief.

"She's not allowed into it," he said, and handed her the newly arrived letter to read.

 _October 3_ _rd_

 _Clint,_

 _It's all right, due to those mortal accidents, the Triwizard Tournament has an age limit. Students under 17 are not allowed to participate._

 _I asked my Charms Professor, and he told me the bracelet is actually magical (I'm wearing it right now), and protects against the evil eye. Thank you for the necklace, I loved it (tell Natasha she has good taste). I have at least three classmates who asked me where I got it from. I can't wear it during class, but it does match my evening dress._

 _Professor Moody is an excellent teacher who values practice more than studying. I know I will learn a lot with him._

 _The foreign students arrived two days ago. One of the schools is from France, and we're not sure about the second one (maybe Norway). The French criticized the castle a lot while the others were quite taken with it. I didn't get a chance to talk to any of them yet, but I hope I will get an opportunity soon._

 _I'll keep your advice in mind, thank you. Ron does really seem genuinely guilty about the whole story._

 _Are you leaving on a new assignment? How did the last one go? I suppose you can't tell me about it? (although Professor Flitwick told me it was a Greek protection charm, so I suppose you went to Greece?)_

 _Talk to you later,_

 _Hermione_

 _Ps: it's way better. Did you ask someone to write for you?_

Natasha smirked.

"Right guess, for Greece. So, are you going to stop acting like an idiot now?"

He gave her an apologetic smile, the boyish 'I-was-stupid-but-for-a-good-reason-forgive-me-puppy-eyes-please' kind that made her hard to stay angry at him.

"I'll let you chose the movie tonight?" Clint offered.

"Every night for two weeks," she retorted, determined to give him a token resistance.

"Four days." He bargained.

"One week. And you cook tonight."

The cocky grin informed her that desert might not be on the menu.

"Deal."

 **October 3** **rd**

 **Dear Melting Pot,**

 **I HATE YOU GUYS! And I** _ **love**_ **the Tumpress! Who on earth decided that wizards needed their own version of a Furby had the best idea ever! Half of my classmates were wondering what the heck a blue motioned teddy bear was doing in my stuff, but now they've all been asking where I got it. I really like that it only reacts to the owner's orders and can be used as a recording device –among other things. Crookshanks tolerates it because it gave him a nice back rub the other day. Some are joking I'm slipping to the Dark Side and betraying good old Great Britain for the new continent. I'm calling it Blue –and sorry Paint, I don't have your imagination when it comes to naming things.**

 **Ron and Harry are slowly patching up –I can't really blame him though; Ron is the first friend Harry made upon arrival. I still don't talk unless necessary to the Weasleys though. Harry sits in the middle whenever we are all three at the table and the twins and Ginny keep their distance.**

 **By the way, could you send a picture group? My British friends are getting anxious to place a face on the names. Here is mine, in exchange. From right to left: Lavender, Pavati, me –obviously, and Harry. You might see a redhead in the background, if he's not hiding behind a column –that would be Ron.**

 **Hope to hear from you soon!**

 **Hermione**

Squeals and giggles caught her attention. She put down her pen and glanced on her right. A group of first years were surrounding said Tumpress. The baby-blue-colored bear lifted big brown eyes at the closest student and blinked twice. Then it extended its fluffy arms for a hug and whined plaintively. The girl squealed and hugged it back. Hermione bit back a chuckle and added to her letter:

 **PS: Blue is a lady killer, just like the guy who picked him up –and yes, I am speaking to you Don.**

Hermione woke up early that morning. She had gotten to sleep around midnight in spite of her tiredness of the previous days and even though it was barely seven, she felt well-rested. Thankfully, it was a Sunday, she heavily doubted that either Harry or the girls would be up at this hour. Not hungry enough to have breakfast yet, she quietly dressed up and decided to take a walk outside. The weather was good for an autumn day, rather dry after a week of rain. She headed to the Quidditch pitch using the long road, strolling along the tall walls of the castle. Since most of its inhabitants were asleep, she could take advantage of the quietness of the place and admire its surroundings better.

Over the years, Hermione had promised herself she would take a picture of the land to show her parents. There were illustrations in Hogwarts a History of course, but nothing replaced being there for real. Now, she would never have the opportunity.

Hermione sighed sadly and slowly returned to the castle, no longer in the mood for solitude. A quick stop at her dorm to drop her coat informed her that she had been out for over half an hour and her friends had departed for breakfast. She was on her way to the Great Hall when three figures stepped in the corridor and blocked the road. She recognized Draco Malfoy and his inseparable goons. Oddly, the Slytherin trio had been quiet around her, ever since she had hit their leader square in the nose. There hadn't been retribution; after all, she was a mere muggleborn, why bother? But she knew how bullies functioned and knowing Malfoy, it didn't surprise her that he'd try to corner her alone. Given the smirk on his face and the triumphant glint in his eyes, she had no doubt he had been simmering his revenge the whole summer.

"Look who comes here!" the blonde snarled, arms crossed and nose raised up in typical snobbish fashion. "The mudblood, alone. Did you finally realize you had no friends here?"

"Shut up blondie," she snapped back. "I'm not in the mood to listen your pathetic little mind's ramblings."

Malfoy seemed slightly put off, but quickly regained his composure and nodded towards his goons.

"Then we won't talk. Guys?" Crabb and Golye stepped forwards, rolling their shoulders and pulling out their wands. Malfoy's smirk grew. "You will regret lying a hand on me."

A light shiver ran down Hermione's spine, but she kept her head clear. She remembered Natasha's teaching and Clint's practice. Compared to him, Crabb and Goyle were not even a challenge. As the former stepped forwards, she slouched slightly and waited for him to come. Crab was the first to extend his hand. Using a move Natasha showed her, she moved forwards, grabbed his wrist with her left hand, pulled him towards her and turned back, allowing his body to stumble against her back. She then put her right elbow on his arm, her feet in between his legs and followed the line to the shoulder, hitting his temple and sending him forwards after tripping him. The large teenager groaned in pain as he hit the floor and she abandoned him for Goyle, who merely stared at her in shock. Grabbing his wrist in the same manner, she slipped behind him and pressed her thumb under his jaw. When he tumbled down unconscious, she cast a quick jinx on Crabb that held him down.

Then, she turned back to face the leader.

With both goons down, Draco had drastically paled. Hermione stepped closer. He stepped backwards, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water.

"Get out of my way," she hissed, and waited until he ran from her path to start walking again.

"Bloody hell!"

She glanced around her shoulder. Harry, Ron and a few other Gryffindors were gathered in the back and staring at her with wide eyes.

"You got off easy, mate," Harry told Ron. There was clear awe and admiration in his eyes, which made her slightly blush in appreciation. Being congratulated by her uncle and Natasha was one thing, Harry and her friends was another. The redhead gulped and paled slightly when she glanced at him. Hermione huffed and ended her course to the Great Hall, a light jump in her step. As she sat on her usual spot, she spotted a new letter waiting for her.

 _October 15_ _th_

 _Hermione,_

 _Good to hear. Don't worry about the French, they love to complain about everything (their pastries are great though). Natasha wishes she could help you dress up (she loves putting on a show). As for Greece, I can neither confirm nor deny._

 _This is short, but I am being sent today for at least three weeks in a foreign country (got the order two hours ago, Maria will post this. I'll bring back another souvenir). I will answer your next letter whenever I can._

 _Happy to hear you like my –our- present!_

 _Clint_

 _Ps: I am capable of writing on my own properly, thank you very much!_

Hermione swallowed hard as she put down her quill. From the corner on the eye she could see Harry with his eyes closed and breathing in deeply, back against a wall of the Common Room, hidden behind the desk she used to write that evening. She was secretly glad he had tried meditation with her one day; after half an hour of peace and quiet, he had claimed it had relaxed him. And with the latest string of events, he was using every bit of techniques she knew to keep his temper.

Even with his eyes closed, his breathing regular and relaxed shoulders, she knew he must have been boiling from the inside. His face had a hard edge to it lately and she hated it. Stupid Ron and stupid students who didn't think twice before acting, she thought bitterly before returning to rereading her letters.

 **November 2** **nd**

 **Dear Melting Pot**

 **Remember Harry-trouble-magnet? His luck has turned again. He's been selected for the Triwizard Tournament, and he's only fourteen! This is going to be another restless year, I swear. What's up with you guys? I haven't heard from you in a while.**

 **Hermione**

She switched to the other designed for Clint.

 _November 2_ _nd_

 _Clint,_

 _Someone's trying to kill Harry again. His name was selected by the Goblet (students put their name in it and it chooses the most 'worthy' for the Tournament). No one knows how it happened and most of the school believes he put his own name in. Even Ron is giving him the cold shoulder. I'm trying to support Harry, but I don't know how to help him. I'm worried about him and the first task is already in three weeks!_

 _I tried to teach him self-defense just in case. He wasn't quite eager until I demonstrated on Malfoy's followers the other day. On a side note, Malfoy denied it when I mentioned it later on, but it was obvious to the others that he was lying. He was even questioned by other students and some teachers on the matter. He tried to come after me for retaliation when I was isolated using magic, but I did that trick we practiced all summer then that punch-kick thing Natasha taught me before I left. I did get detention from a professor nearby, but it was completely worth it! Now I'm Gryffindor's new hero._

Another thing that hung on her mood tonight was the constant lack of details on Clint's missions. Sure, she believed him capable of doing his job –whatever it was, but the subtle reminder of Harry's life on the line also made her realize that there would be a reason why her uncle was so strong. No matter how secretive his missions were supposed to be, his top physical condition (and the things he had said that sounded way too paranoid for her sometimes) pointed that he might lose his life whenever he left. And while Hermione had hardly spent enough time with him to truly claim him as family, she didn't want to lose him too. That last thought made her add a bit at the end of her letter.

' _I hope your assignment is going on nicely. Come home safe._

 _Hermione_


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Avengers.**

 _November 10_ _th_

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _That's my girl! When I told Tasha, she was a bit smug (I think she's already planning your next training session. Be brave kid). Things got a bit tense during the assignment and I didn't get enough time to bring you a souvenir, so the bookmark is from Tasha. The ideogram means 'strength' (I googled it)._

 _I'm sorry about Harry. I think it's a good thing you're teaching him self-defense, you never know when it can come in handy. Whatever you're doing to help him, trust me, he will never forget (even if he gets grumpy and angry about it)._

 _I have to go, but keep me posted._

 _Clint_

Hermione winced at the mention of Natasha planning something. Casual training was hard enough –and she was seriously getting lazy lately –and she really needed to fall back into the routine of exercises Natasha gave her if she didn't want to suffer once she returned. She opened the second letter that had arrived a couple days before, but hadn't yet the time to read.

 **November 8** **th**

 **Sorry Brita,**

 **Right now is the** _ **great**_ **period of exams. We were going crazy studying and Don is helping us with homework.** **We'll write a longer letter later. In the meantime, we squeezed in some time for a group picture. Don's wearing his family's traditional cloths. Believe it or not, he's the youngest from an old Pureblood family and has to go through some stupid ceremony of recognition. I like his costume though. It would look great at Mardi Gras according to Paint.**

 **TTYL!**

 **Fish and the Melting Pot**

 **PS: Gretel thinks Harry looks cute.**

Hermione smiled slightly and glanced at the picture. It was animated, of course, like all wizards photos. They were all wearing the same uniform, black pants and blue shirt for Paint and Fish, along with a logo of their school. Both were making funny faces as usual. Gretel wore black pants instead of a skirt _(apparently she had managed to avoid the girls-wear-skirts rule)_ with a purple top, and was glaring at the two younger boys. Don was there too, smiling and waving at her. His seemingly traditional costume was green and silver with heavy red jewelry wrapped around his neck and torso. A weird hat in a banana shape with large borders fell over his ears. Hermione smiled back at them, realizing that she missed them more than she expected.

Paint and Fish's incessant jokes and attempts at pranks, Gretel's unexpected devil-may-care attitude and Don's endless patience. She just hoped their barely standing friendship would be enough to see them unchanged once she returned.

"Hermione!"

She raised her eyes and met the panicking ones of Ginny. The girl was red and panting, and while Hermione hadn't said more than a couple words to her since the beginning of the school year, she got curious enough to hear what the younger girl had to say.

"Harry and Ron are fighting downstairs."

Hermione didn't need any more words and, after stashing the letters in her pocket ( _she was_ so _not leaving them in the open for everyone to see_ ), ran to the Common Room.

A huge assembly of students was gathered around what were obviously two people who were exchanging more than words. Had it been any other occasion, Hermione knew the fight would have been ended a long time before it would have started. Unfortunately, Harry was the antithesis of Gryffindor's hero right now. Students still hadn't swallowed the pill of him being selected for the Triwizard Tournament **,** and believed even less that he was innocent.

Still, the other students parted for her as she walked towards the center of the commotion. Harry and Ron were indeed physically fighting, wands on the ground, tearing at clothes and hitting each other. Harry was obviously stronger, but Ron had five older brothers, among whom he must have fought, at least once or twice. Hermione didn't know what upset her most; that Harry and Ron had come to blows or that no one was trying to separate them. So she decided to step in. She grabbed the closest boy by the collar –who happened to be Harry, pulled him back, and tripped Ron who was coming forward. And then she stood in the middle.

"What. Is. Going. On?" she asked, emphasizing every syllable and glaring at the assembly. "Why haven't the Prefects haven't intervened yet?"

The students exchanged embarrassed glances and most left the scene in a hurry. Harry stood up, turned around and left the room, clothes in disarray and a black eye on his face. Ron slowly stood to his feet, holding his ribs, mouth cut at the lips.

"Maybe if he stopped showing off, things would be better." Ron snarled.

Hermione glowered at him.

"Maybe if you stopped being a prat and started acting your age, you would get over your pathetic jealousy." She shot back. Seeing that no one was likely to move, she turned around and ran out of the common room. Spending a lot of time with Harry had given her an unexpected insight on where to look for him when he ran away. This time, she knew he needed to isolate himself from others, but wouldn't leave the castle. She found him in an empty classroom near Dumbledore's office, sitting on a table, feet set on a chair. He tensed at her approach but didn't ask her to leave. Hermione closed the door behind and came to sit next to him.

"You're not going to chide me for dirtying a chair?" he said, shifting his shoe on the wooden support.

Hermione ignored his tone. "What happened this time?"

He shrugged and kept glaring at his feet. Hermione was not to be deterred.

"I didn't start teaching you how to fight so you could beat up your classmates," she went on. "So, what did Ron say that pissed you off so much?"

"I'm getting tired of them. One day, they'll all support me, the other, they'll all turn their back. Ron was just making some stupid remark and staring at me while saying it, and I. . . I just blew up."

Hermione nodded, encouraging him to keep going on, though Harry's expression was still as hard as stone and he glared at the floor.

"He's always been so jealous, you know," he went on quietly. "I thought I made a real friend with him, but all he can see is the fame and the glory. He doesn't know what it's like. . ." Harry breathed in slowly. "Meditation helps, but I feel so angry all the time. . . Ron said I probably cheated my way in by paying an older student to put my name in the Goblet of Fire. Not asked, but _paid_. Like, nobody would put my name if I didn't ask them to." He snorted. "Not that I'd even _want_ them to. I've been targeted my first and second year. Third year doesn't count, not really. So why would I be stupid enough to put my own name in that thing?"

Hermione put a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. Harry sounded tired. He offered her a grateful, weary smile, for standing by his side even though she had been encouraged to leave him behind (' _he needs some space', Lavender had said. Hermione had given her the cold shoulder for days.)_

She decided to change subject and tackle one that had been set aside long enough.

"Did you get news from Sirius?" she asked. Harry's expression sobered.

"He. . . he said he's coming to Hogsmeade. He wants to meet at our next outing."

Hermione frowned.

"That's. . . soon."

"Next weekend," Harry replied darkly. "I don't want to put him in danger again," he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He glanced at her sideways. "You'll come to see him with me, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Of course silly." She hesitated, remembering momentarily Maria Hill's deal. "Harry, I. . . I didn't tell you everything, about my stay with my uncle." Harry stared at her with curiosity. "They asked me about Sirius. I told them I believed he was innocent, and that I didn't know where he was. Hill –my uncle's boss –told me. . . she told me Sirius had a better chance asking for a trial –out of Britain. We would testify, offer our memories and he would be submitted to Veritaserum. I don't know if she was sincere," she added quickly. "But I promised I'd mention it to him."

"And they would give him a trial?"

"Sirius could accuse the Ministry of Magic itself for slander and false accusation. He could do it from the outside, as a political refuge. It makes sense, if you think of it," she added absentmindedly. "The best defense is offense after all."

Harry frowned, like each time he faced a new situation and was reflecting over which actions to take. She had mostly seen that face in class, over a miscast spell or one of Professor Flitwick's anecdotes.

"Do you trust that woman?" he asked eventually. Hermione didn't know whether she should encourage or not the faint hop she saw in his eyes.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "But Clint said that if Sirius can convince her, she'll help him. I trust my uncle not to lie about that."

 **TUFA**

Clint sat in Maria's office alone, staring at the wall. He usually hated coming here for any reason, and even more lately after the resounding defeat she put him through with magic. A one-on-one against Hermione had been easy; a one-on-one against Maria had been like fighting Natasha with unlimited trick bullets. He still had the burns of an ill-controlled fire-thing spell to prove it.

"What is it about this time?" he asked the woman sitting across the desk. Clint felt proud his feelings towards her hadn't changed. Yes, she was a hell lot more powerful and could probably take the entire Helicarrier with a flick of her wrist if she put her mind into it, but he had known her far too long to start doubting her loyalties. It did make him even more wary of magic though.

"We made progress on the Nirven case." She replied evenly, as if this was a banal meeting –which **it** was, after all. "I thought you might want to know more about it."

"The only thing that could have interested me in that case was Barney," Clint replied dryly. "I'm not interested in knowing what a wannabe ring of drug dealers are doing."

The Deputy Director raised an eyebrow.

"I would still recommend you read the last page."

As he figured she wouldn't budge until he did what she asked, Clint picked up the file and complied. The first lines were not interesting in the least, but as he read more and more of the report. . . He suddenly lifted his head and stared intensely at Maria.

"What…Is that what I think it is?"

Maria crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat.

"There is a faint possibility that Bernard Granger faked his death. The corpse in the morgue wasn't properly identified. Recent inspections showed that it might have not been his body at all. His dental records were stolen and found again six months ago. They could have been replaced then."

Clint felt the blood leave his face. He wasn't sure whether it was out of surprise or anger. Perhaps not surprise, Barney was sneaky, he would have known how to throw the police off his scent. Anger, definitively, but on Hermione's behalf, that he had left her behind. Although Clint could understand his motivations, especially if he wanted to keep his daughter out of his situation, it still didn't excuse the fact he had left her alone.

A thought struck him. "What about his wife? Is she…"

Maria shook her head.

"If definitively was her body. SHIELD agents checked thrice after doubting Granger's."

Clint sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "How am I going to tell Hermione?"

Maria gave him a look of sympathy.

"It's up to you whether to tell her at all," she said. "But I wish you luck."

When he returned to his apartment, Natasha was watching Cop Dogs on TV. He let himself all but fall back on the couch, resting his head on her thighs. Natasha ran her hand in his hair. He closed his eyes.

"I take it didn't go smoothly?"

"Barney might be alive," he replied without moving. She didn't stop petting him.

"Okay."

"You don't sound surprised." He remarked.

"You Bartons must have common genes with **cock** roaches, you survive nearly anything. From what I heard of him, dying in a car crash could have been embarrassing."

"I guess so." Clint opened his eyes again and flickered to her face. He needed a change of subject. "So you're off babysitting soon?" Natasha made a sound of distaste, so he went on cheerfully. "Anthony Stark, playboy billionaire extraordinaire aka Iron Man. That sounds fun. You'll get to be one of the privileged for a while."

Natasha glared at him. "You mean stand and smile while rich pigs daydream of me naked?"

"And they'll never get _that_ privilege," Clint replied, reaching for her cheek. She sighed and leaned into it, closing her eyes in turn. The moment was shattered when a small 'taptap' was heard against the window. A raccoon was standing on the top window above their kitchen table, a letter in his paw. Clint reluctantly left the couch and opened it, finally getting used to the weird wizard method of mailing. The animal ignored his hand and threw its prize in the living room before darting away.

"O-kay," Clint said, bending forwards to pick up said letter and started to read.

November 15th

 _Clint,_

 _Thank you for the bookmark; it's been put to good use. Is there any way you can tell Natasha to ease up on the training? We don't exactly have a facility here and I've had enough eyes staring at me weirdly when I'm off for a jog. Harry is very depressed lately and the others always picking on him does not make the situation easier to deal with. I'm trying to support him the best I can though._

 _On a lighter note, I've got all A's on my latest essays and homework. Nothing much is happening here otherwise. . ._

 _Until next time!_

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

She had also added a postscript in hasty handwriting about asking Maria for advice for a spell. . . He froze. Read and reread the words again and again. It took him a full minute to realize Natasha had been calling his name.

"Clint, I swear to god-"

He stared at her in disbelief, the letter nearly dropping off his hand.

"Fucking _DRAGONS_?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Hogwarts**

Hermione nearly tore the envelopes she received that morning. She was quite proud of her self-control as she had waited to be at an isolated table in the Library to do so. She had desperately been seeking for efficient spells, or other things to go against dragons. The not-quite-useful answers she had found in her usually reliable books had shaken her. After a rather explicit SOS sent across the Atlantic, replies had –thankfully- returned fast and on the same day.

She dreaded slightly the reaction of her uncle to the news, so started with his.

 _November 18_ _th_

 _SERIOUSLY,_ _ **DRAGONS**_ _? You are so lucky I'm being sent on serious business, or I would have harassed Maria to bring me to your damn school and have words with your headmaster and whoever had this_ wonderful _of including dragons –DRAGONS- in a tournament for unprepared children! Seventeen isn't quite a child anymore but heck Hermione, after what I've heard about this Tournament, I thought they'd be more cautious or something! Do keep me updated on the situation._

 _Maria said something about a sleeping spell 'somnumon'. Depending on your friend's magical strength it might just dull the dragon's reflexes instead of making it fall asleep. And there's a flameproof spell 'contignusa' that protects even against magical flames. Hope it'll help._

 _And KEEP ME POSTED._

 _Clint_

Hermione winced slightly at her uncle's tirade, thanking whoever was 'In Charge' up there that he had not heard of Howlers. She did frown at the remark on the dangerousness of these tasks. Had she not been participating in the Tournament, she might have been impressed at the unsuspected part. Now that Harry was involved, her opinion had changed radically. She momentarily imagined Clint standing up to Dumbledore, spitting and rambling angrily while the headmaster nodded with infinite patience. Or how would officials react facing him and Natasha, armed to teeth. She had no illusion on their chances against trained to combat wizards, but Hermione was quite sure even Aurors could be thrown off by the element of surprise. And her uncle was very well-trained, even for muggle standards. . .

Pushing the thought aside, she grabbed her quill and scribbled down the two new spells on the list of the very few things she had found so far. She had wanted Hill's opinion, as an adult with likely a different knowledge of Britain. And she wasn't disappointed since she hadn't found 'somnumon' or 'contignusa' during her researches. A lot calmer, now that she had something new to work on, she opened the second letter.

 _ **November 19**_ _ **th**_

 _ **Tell him to use a muggle gun and shoot its eyes. It should kill it on spot. More seriously, Don says weak points are eyes and under the chin or the junction of the shoulders if it has wings, so a basic repulsive spell should keep it at bay. Or if it needs a distraction, try to transfigure something to keeps its attention busy, like a myriad of birds or a pig to be eaten. I read somewhere that mandragore leaves are like dragon-nip. . . can't hurt to try. Hope your friend will be fine.**_

 _ **By the way, be sure to keep a spare day or two during Christmas vacation; Gretel and Don Juan have something planned for us.**_

 _ **Fish and the Melting Pot**_

The last line made her pause in an unsuspected way. Christmas. She hadn't made plans for Christmas yet, distracted from the current events. Frowning, Hermione turned towards her Tumpress. "Blue, memo note activated."

The small blue bear blinked at her and tilted its head on the side. Its left ear grew and eyes widened. It whined encouragingly and Hermione began to speak. "Next letter to Clint, ask for Christmas plans. End note."

Blue chirped happily as its ear found its normal size again and crawled to her hand for a petting. Hermione smiled and scratched the teddy's back. That was, until Crookshanks got jealous of the attention and jumped on her desk, nudging the Tumpress away. Blue dropped on the ground with a startled 'iiiik'. The cat glared reproachfully at Hermione, who was doing her best not to laugh at their antics. She picked up a whining Blue, set it on her knees for further petting with her left hand, while her right caressed Crookshanks. Still grumpy, but satisfied with the compromise, the cat stretched over her letters and closed his eyes to purr.

"I was reading that, you know," she said, amused. Crookshanks ignored her reproach and extended his claws on the table in delight. Hermione winced slightly at the thought of scratches and Mrs Pince's reaction if she ever found out who did them. She was about to chide her cat when she heard a soft chuckle behind her.

"There is serious competition for your attention here."

Hermione glanced up and smiled as she recognized Harry standing beside her.

"I didn't think we'd leave before eleven?" she questioned hesitantly. Today was their outing to Hogsmeade, and they had agreed they shouldn't go too early to avoid the bigger crowd of students leaving.

He shrugged. "I wanted to stop by the kitchens to get a basket of food since. . .y'know, he mustn't be eating as much as he wants out there."

Hermione nearly banged her head on the table; of course the kitchen would be a smart place to stop. And Sirius had mentioned stopping there in his last letter, if she recalled.

"Blue," she called, and the Tumpress blinked. "Save in storage." She put the letters in its half-open mouth, and they magically shortened and disappeared in the 'stomach storage'. Blue could just hold a few dozen papers, but no books. Hermione particularly liked this application, especially since she kept her most recent letters close by. She then picked it up and placed it over her shoulder. The Tumpress sticking charm activated _(on its paws -for better adherence the instruction note said_ ) and it turned into sleeping mode until instructed otherwise. Crookshanks made a grunting noise at his petting being interrupted and jumped off the table, head high, but not before sending them a pointed glare.

The two teens grinned at the cat's behavior and headed to the lower levels of the castle.

An hour and a basket full later, they met and followed Sirius-the-Dog to his hideout: a well-hidden cave far enough from the village. Buckbeack the hippogriff was waiting for them there. Bows were exchanged for the creature's acceptance of their presence and Sirius devoured what they had brought for lunch. Hermione let godfather and godson reunite in peace and focused on petting ( _today was a petting day, she thought amusedly_ ) Buckbeak to leave them to their privacy.

It didn't last long, as the former prisoner came after her and spoke softly. "Harry told me about your parents. I'm sorry about what happened."

An unexpected feeling grew in the back of her throat and squeezed it tight. Hermione was suddenly glad she had Buckbeack to focus on. She realized that it had been a while since she had given proper thought to her parents. . .and even though the latest events could have been an excuse, it didn't shelter her much from guilt. Harry came to stand beside her and gently touched her arm for comfort. Hermione breathed in deeply and forced herself to smile.

"I got to know my uncle," she responded and promptly changed subject. "Has Harry told you about the deal?"

Sirius' face sobered and his godson's expression turned more solemn.

"How _sure_ are you about this woman?" the escapee asked. "Would she truly have enough power to overrule the British Ministry of Magic itself? After all this time, I doubt me coming out innocent would please a lot of people."

Hermione gave him the same answer she had given Harry. "My uncle said she can help you, and I trust him not to lie to me," she paused and admitted. "She did sound interested in visiting your library. . .and using you as a spy or an informant within the magical community."

Much to her surprise, Sirius laughed.

"I figured no one would help me just for the sake of justice. This sounds a lot more believable," his tone was sarcastic, but for the first time since they've spoken, Hermione could see a sparkle of determination in his eyes. He looked less tired with a new objective to reach. "Fine. Tell your uncle's friend-"

"Boss," she corrected. Perhaps Miss Hill was his friend at some level, but their relationship was definitively more professional than friendly, and she wanted Sirius to be aware of that.

"Boss," he repeated, apparently uncaring of the nuance, "that I will agree to her offer, but under some conditions. I want to meet her on neutral grounds. I'm not jumping in the lion's den without prior contact."

Hermione resisted the urge to point out he was not Hill's highest priority in life, and knowing the woman –or from what Clint spoke of her- she might just cast the letter away should she be uninterested.

"Are you sure about that, Sirius?" Harry asked, having remained silent up until now. "It might be a trap."

Sirius nodded solemnly, still determined.

"I know there's still a chance of this being a hoax or a strategy to draw me out," he admitted. "I wanted to stay out of reach and close to you, but in my current situation, I won't gain a listening ear before long. If this works. . .then I'll be back in the game earlier and it's all that matters. Thank you for trying, Hermione, you have no idea how much that means to me."

Hermione's lips tightened in a thin line. She wasn't doing this for Sirius, but for Harry. He had been orphaned so early, he couldn't possibly mourn his parents properly. His godfather was the closest thing he had to a family now, and him being free would be best to cheer him up.

"It's not fun losing a parent." She replied quietly, and from the man's expression, knew her message had been passed. "Let's talk about what can be done now," she added, and they spoke of the dangers of the Tournament Harry might face until it was time to return to Hogwarts.

 **The Uncle From America**

New Mexico was one of the few States in which Clint never had been in trouble. Still, he had felt uneasy when Coulson had informed him that he was being sent there to keep close surveillance over a 0-8-4. Those three numbers had a very particular meaning for everyone, including SHIELD agents. They meant something weird could happen anytime. And now, he tended to associate weird with magic.

So when Clint had arrived, he had been quite surprised when said 0-8-4 had turned out to be a hammer innocently anchored in the rock.

The tool had hit the Earth about two weeks prior, long enough for the urban legend to develop and attract many idiots eager to lift it. SHIELD agents were ordered to keep their distance, but he could tell quite a few wanted to test their luck just for the heck of it. And if he was honest with himself, he had this tiny itch to try, too. Clint sighed and contemplated the anchored hammer. It was a beautiful piece of work, leather handle and carved stone. Who knew what that thing could do? He had no doubt it had a magical origin. An odd aura surrounded it, drawing people to stare and wonder. . .but his gut told him that this was different, somewhat, that this wasn't the same as Hermione's magic.

"Barton! Stop lazing around, you're needed in section two."

He sighed and waved at the agent in return. On his way to his post, he glanced upwards. The sky was darkening, a storm was forming. So far, nothing aside a few punks had tried to invade the site. But his instincts were whispering that this was about to change. He couldn't explain the shift of atmosphere, heavier, even threatening somehow. He made a mental note to be more on alert tonight.

Coulson was waiting for him when he arrived.

"You've received a letter," he announced, staring bemusedly at him, a familiar-looking envelope in his hand. Hermione must have written back. He vaguely wondered what use that letter box Maria had made him subscribe to ever had. Magical mail always seemed to find him in the most bizarre places whether he wanted or not.

"Thanks," Clint said and reached to take it. Coulson still stared unblinkingly.

"Any idea why it was dropped off by a rattlesnake?"

Clint stared back, his face carefully blank.

"A rattlesnake? You serious?" Then, just because he couldn't resist: "You should put a hat or something on. The sun must be playing tricks on that half-bald head of yours."

Coulson merely raised an eyebrow, muttered a placid 'I'll think about it' and left Clint to his own devices. Clint put the envelope in his inside pocket and headed to his post. He nodded at the security guard in place and climbed on the higher shafts and stopped at a high point for better observation. Up there, he was out of everyone's sights and could see everything. If anyone had to protest about his choice of spot, they could shove it up somewhere. A quick glance around told him nothing seemed out of place. Since he had a two hour shift to go through before being allowed back to the cafeteria for early dinner, he decided he would read the letter now.

 _Clint,_

 _I'm sorry, but you won't be able to change the system, even if I entirely agree with you, and the fact Harry is in this tournament whether we like it or not. Thank Miss Hill for the spells, will you? I'm positive they will turn out very useful. One thing I wanted to mention, Christmas holidays-'_

Clint blinked at the words and inwardly cursed. He could probably weasel himself out of a mission during Christmas break for Hermione, if Hermione decided to return that is. Otherwise, he didn't know whether he would be available or not.

 _What are your plans? If you can't free yourself, it's fine; I'll stay at Hogwarts. With the Tournament, there is a lot more animation anyway. If you are, I have to write my name on a register. . .keep me posted?_

 _I need your help for something else. Do you remember Sirius Black? The man Miss Hill and you came to talk about before I return to England? He's game for her help, but he wants to know how everything is going to unfold. Sirius is willing to provide information and cooperate as long as he can stay close to Harry. I mean, he ran to stay with Harry and Harry really needs him right now. Please, please tell me she will provide him a fair trial, that's all I'm asking. She can send me the letters, I'll forward them to Sirius in turn._

Clint winced. He didn't particularly enjoy knowing his niece was having a close correspondence with a well-known criminal, even if he was indeed innocent. It was a wise choice from the escapee though, even he wasn't sure a magical letter could be traced if the receiver wasn't willing to get it. Then again, what did _he_ know about magical stuff?

 _Harry's first task will soon begin; trust me when I say I will be quite busy over the next week. And many thanks to Natasha for her yoga classes again! I don't know how I could have managed the stress without it._

 _Come home safe._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione._

The archer folded the letter and hid it back in the inside pocket of his jacket. It was starting to rain outside, but nothing bad enough to obscure his vision. Since he had that gut feeling that something was about to happen tonight, and with his luck, when he would be off-duty _(experience had taught him shit hit the fan at nighttime ninety five percent of the time)_ , he figured he might catch up some rest. The hammer had been in the middle of the desert long enough; someone was bound to fetch it sooner or later.

And he was proven right three hours later, when a tall muscular blonde man infiltrated the site and destroyed half of said site.


End file.
